G  R  I  S  E  L  D  A 


GRISELDA 

BY 

BASIL     KING 


" forgiveness,  sweet 

To  be  granted,  or  received." 

—  Wordsworth. 


HERBERT  S.  STONE  AND  COMPANY 

ELDRIDGE  COURT,  CHICAGO 

MDCCCC 


COPYRIGHT,    igOO,    BY 
HERBERT     3.    STONE   *    CO 


PART    I 


2061939 


Griselda 


Lomond  Lodge  is  one  of  the  older  houses 
at  Ascot.  That  is  to  say,  it  is  neither 
mouldily  ancient  nor  staringly  new.  Time 
has  mellowed  the  red  of  its  brick,  and  thrown 
over  its  gabled  walls  a  mantle  of  vines,  but 
has  laid  no  damp  or  disturbing  hand  on  the 
comfort  and  beauty  within. 

The  house  was  begun  by  the  last  Lord 
Lomond  but  one,  in  the  days  when  Ascot 
was  still  little  more  than  an  outlying  part  of 
Winkfield  and  Sunninghill.  In  the  heather 
and  the  pines  of  Berkshire  the  old  peer  found 
a  touch  of  Scotland,  within  easy  reach  of  Lon- 
don. Having  bought  land  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  Forest  of  Swinley,  he  placed  his  dwell- 
ing in  such  a  way  that  the  ancient  wood 
seemed  part  of  his  own  domain.  Lord 
Lomond  soon  came  to  prefer  the  home  of 
his  choice  to  that  of  his  ancestors ;  and  as 
his  affection  grew  the  house  increased  in 


2  GRISELDA 

importance.  Whenever  needed,  new  wings 
were  added,  with  an  eye  to  convenience 
rather  than  effect.  The  result  was  rambling 
and  irregular,  but  at  once  unpretentious  and 
picturesque. 

Little  by  little  House  of  Tulloch  in  Argyll- 
shire was  despoiled  of  its  hereditary  treas- 
ures, to  enrich  the  new  mansion  on  the 
southern  heath.  A  son  carried  forward  the 
work  which  the  father  began,  adorning 
rather  than  enlarging;  leaving  behind  him 
in  every  apartment  proofs  of  extensive 
travel  and  exquisite  taste.  When,  there- 
fore, young  Lord  Glenorchie,  on  the  death 
of  a  distant  kinsman,  came  into  the  Earldom 
of  Lomond,  he  found  that  while  House  of 
Tulloch  stood  best  for  ancestral  dignity, 
Lomond  Lodge  was  the  pleasanter  place  of 
abode.  Lady  Glenorchie,  in  spite  of  her 
fierce  love  for  Scotland,  thought  so  too;  and 
this  year  she  had  persuaded  her  son  to  give 
up  his  August  visit  to  the  north,  in  order  to 
settle  down  for  a  few  quiet  months  under 
the  pines  which  had  recently  become  his 
own. 

This  was  contrary  not  only  to  fashionable 
example,  but  to  the  young  man's  inclination. 
He  had  yielded  only  when  he  knew  that  it 


GRISELDA  3 

was  his  mother's  intention  to  include  among 
their  guests  Lady  Phillida  Wimpole  and 
Griselda  Grant. 

Lady  Phillida  had  practically  asked  for 
this  invitation ;  not  for  herself,  for  she  and 
Lady  Glenorchie  were  intimate  friends,  but 
for  the  girl  to  whom  she  had  undertaken  to 
be  a  social  guide.  Lady  Glenorchie  had 
never  seen  Miss  Grant;  and  Lord  Lomond 
had  not  thought  it  necessary  to  tell  his 
mother  more  than  the  fact  that  he  knew  her. 
He  did  not  say  that  their  acquaintance  had 
ripened  rapidly. 

Lady  Glenorchie  now  wished  that  she  had 
known  a  little  more  of  the  girl  whom  she 
had,  perhaps  rashly,  taken  under  her  roof. 
Lord  Lomond  wished  it  too.  He  was  think- 
ing so  at  the  very  moment  when,  standing  at 
an  open  French  window,  he  looked  at  the 
young  lady  herself.  Miss  Grant  was  sitting 
close  to  a  high  holly  hedge,  in  a  corner  of 
the  lawn  overshadowed  by  a  group  of  pines. 
On  a  table  at  her  side  was  a  leather  box,  the 
contents  of  which  she  was  slowly  reading 
and  replacing. 

Lord  Lomond  sauntered  towards  her. 

"Am  I  disturbing  you?"  he  asked  as  he 
came  near  her. 


4  GRISELDA 

"Not  a  bit,"  she  answered  promptly,  look- 
ing up  with  a  smile.  "Find  a  chair  and  sit 
down.  The  drowsiness  of  after  lunch  seems 
to  have  laid  low  every  one  in  the  house. 

"So  that  even  my  society  is  better  than 
none,"  he  said,  as  he  drew  a  chair  towards 
her  table,  and  sat  down.  "What  a  serious- 
looking  box!" 

"It  is  serious,"  she  said.  "It  contains  all 
my  secrets;  or,  at  least,  all  that  are  com- 
mitted to  paper." 

"I  thought  it  was  a  man's  privilege  to 
taste  the  pleasure  that  lies  in  the  concealed. 
What  can  a  woman  ever  want  to  hide?  Isn't 
her  life  an  open  book?" 

"I  wish  mine  were,"  Griselda  said  with  a 
light  sigh.  "I  have  come  to  the  age  when 
one  knows  that  the  power  to  be  absolutely 
open  and  frank  is  the  most  lasting  luxury  in 
life." 

"May  I  ask  if  this  wisdom  is  the  result  of 
observation  or  of  precocious  experience?" 

"If  it  must  be  one  or  the  other  let  us  call 
it  experience,  precocious  or  not,  as  you 
please.  I  must  have  chosen  my  words  badly 
if  I  failed  to  convey  something  like  the  same 
idea  the  other  day." 

"You  told  me  that  before  you  could  prom- 


GRISELDA  5 

ise  to  be  my  wife  there  were  certain  matters 
personal  to  yourself,  which  ought  to  be 
explained. ' ' 

"And  that  I  couldn't  make  up  my  mind  as 
to  whether  or  not  to  give  the  explanation." 

"You  are  not  pressed  for  time,  you  know. 
I  am  willing  to  wait." 

"I  don't  know  that  time  will  throw  much 
light  on  the  way.  Oh,  how  I  envy  your 
English  girls  the  simplicity  of  their  position ! 
Miss  Dumbleton,  for  instance,  if  you  asked 
her  to  marry  you,  could  answer  at  once; 
she  could  at  least  say  Yes  or  No,  according 
to  the  inclination  of  her  heart. ' ' 

"And  can't  you?"  he  said,  leaning  on  the 
table  and  looking  her  in  the  eyes.  "What 
else,  other  than  the  inclination  of  your 
heart,  is  there  to  consider?" 

"Many  things.  There  is  your  position, 
for  one." 

"But  you  don't  think  of  that." 

"On  the  contrary  I  do.  How  can  I  help 
it?  You  offer  me  an  honored  name,  a  high 
position,  and  great  wealth.  I  may  be  rich, 
but  I  am  a  stranger ;  I  may  be  independent 
but  I  am  absolutely  unknown.  I  don't  deny 
that  apart  from  all  considerations  of  love, 
your  offer  would  be  a  temptation  to  any 


6  GRISELDA 

girl  like  me.  In  marrying  you  I  should  be 
making  what  every  one  would  call  a  great 
match.  There  have  been  moments  within 
the  last  few  days  when  I  have  felt  like  giv- 
ing up  everything  to  do  it. ' ' 

4 'Giving  up  what?" 

"Giving  up  all  other  considerations." 

"Tell  me  of  them." 

"Tell  me  something  first.  What  do  you 
know  about  me?  When  Lady  Glenorchie 
asked  me  to  come  down  here,  why  did  she 
do  it?" 

"If  you  want  to  know  the  exact  reason, 
she  did  it  to  please  Lady  Phillida." 

"What  did  Lady  Phillida  tell  her?  She 
must  have  given  some  explanation  of  me. ' ' 

"She  didn't  give  any.  Every  one  knows 
that  Lady  Phillida' s  girls  go  without  say- 
ing. ' ' 

"Even  when  they  appear  on  the  scene  like 
Melchisedek,  king  of  Salem,  without  father, 
without  mother,  and  without  pedigree. ' ' 

"In  London  when  one  has  wit,  wealth, 
and  beauty  all  doors  are  opened  and  few 
questions  asked." 

"I  have  found  that  true;  and  yet  it  is  a 
little  humiliating  to  be  taken  on  the  terms." 

"I  didn't  say  that  in  your  case  they  were 


GRISELDA  7 

the  only  passports.  I  was  thinking  of  Lady 
Shetland  and  Mrs.  de  la  Pole  who  were 
under  Lady  Phillida's  wing  before  you.  I 
mean  only  that  to  be  with  her  is  always  a 
social  guarantee." 

"Of  external  qualifications." 

"And  general  excellence." 

"As  far  as  it  goes;  having  the  same  rela- 
tion to  the  excellence  which  needs  no  guar- 
antee as  German  Delft  to  Dutch.  The  one 
is  quite  content  to  be  taken  for  the  other; 
but  the  connoisseur  is  always  aware  of  a 
difference  in  make. ' ' 

"I  cannot  discuss  that." 

"Suppose  I  married  you,  and  afterwards  I 
proved  to  be — well,  not  of  the  sort  of  family 
into  which  the  Glenorchies  and  the  Lomonds 
have  generally  married?  Suppose,  in  fact, 
that  about  my  origin  there  was  something 
that  I  should  always  want  to  hide?  What 
then?" 

Lord  Lomond  hesitated  a  moment. 

"I  should  expect  you  to  tell  it  me  before 
marriage,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  gravely. 

"And  if  I  did?" 

Again  Lord  Lomond  hesitated  and  she 
went  on. 

"I  won't  press  you  for  an  answer  now," 


8  GRISELDA 

she  said.  "But  it  is  one  of  the  considera- 
tions of  which  I  spoke.  Though  I  haven't 
known  you  long  I  think  I  know  you  well — 
sufficiently  well  at  least  to  see  that  your 
ruling  trait  is  pride." 

He  started  slightly,  and  would  have 
spoken. 

"Wait,"  she  said,  with  a  quick  gesture 
of  the  hand.  "Let  me  go  on.  You  are 
intensely  proud  of  being  Nigel  Graham. 
You  are  proud  of  having  behind  you  a 
picturesque  and  historic  past.  You  are 
proud  of  being  its  living  incarnation.  You 
are  proud  of  every  link  in  your  lineage. 
You  are  proud  of  the  very  syllables  of  your 
name." 

"Do  I  show  that?"  he  asked,  flushing. 

"No,  you  don't.  I  divine  it;  and  I 
like  it.  Only,  if  you  married  me,  you  would 
certainly  do  so  thinking  I  was  not  your  equal. 
What  I  should  have  to  tell  you  and  what  I 
should  have  to  conceal  would  alike  make  you 
think  so.  You  would  love  me,  no  doubt: 
but  you  would  love  me  with  a  reserve,  with 
a  regret  that  you  should  be  the  first  of  the 
two  families  you  represent  to  break  the  tra- 
ditions of  the  race,  to  bring  into  the  blood 
anything  like  a  stain. " 


GRISELDA  9 

"I  think  you  might  permit  me  to  be  the 
best  judge  of  that." 

"No,  I  can't,"  she  replied  proudly.  "It 
concerns  myself  too  closely.  I  am  certain 
that  until  you  saw  me  you  never  thought  of 
marrying  out  of  some  of  the  great  families 
which  you  consider  equal  to  your  own.  I 
am  certain,  too,  that  if  you  did  so,  you 
would  consider  it  a  misfortune." 

"All  that  is  very  much  out  of  date,  now- 
a-days.  You  speak  as  if  I  were " 

"A  survival.  That  is  what  you  are.  In 
Piccadilly,  in  Paris,  in  India,  or  at  Ascot,  in 
spite  of  all  your  outward  modernity,  you 
are  at  heart  the  great  Scotch  lord  of  two 
hundred  years  rago;  just  as  your  mother  is 
the  great  Scotch  lady. ' ' 

"Oh,  as  for  my  mother,"  Lord  Lomond 
said,  moving  uneasily,  "you  know  she  was  a 
Campbell  of  Kilronan.  She  thinks  the  sun 
shouldn't  shine  except  for  the  great  families 
of  Argyll." 

"And  I  do  not  agree  with  her,"  Griselda 
said  with  spirit.  "I  could  never  take,  nor 
consent  to  pretend  to  take,  that  point  of 
view. ' ' 

"That  is  where  the  American  in  you 
shows  itself." 


10  GRISELDA 

"Of  that  I  am  no  judge.  I  only  see  that 
on  this  great  subject;  which  more  or  less 
determines  one's  whole  attitude  towards  life, 
Lady  Glenorchie  and  I  are  as  wide  apart 

"Feudalism  from  freedom." 

"I  was  going  to  say  the  New  World  from 
the  Old.  When  I  lived  in  France  the  Prince 
d'Ie"na  nicknamed  me  the  Declaration  of 
Independence;  but  Madame  de  St.  Caste 
used  to  call  me  the  Rights  of  Man." 

"I  should  have  made  it  the  Goddess  of 
Liberty." 

"While  you  and  Lady  Glenorchie  always 
keep  me  humming,  Scots  wha  hae. ' ' 

"But  we  are  wandering  from  our  subject, ' ' 
he  said  smiling. 

"Quite  so.  I  was  about  to  say  that  owing 
to  our  wide  differences  of  opinion, as  well  as 
to  other  circumstances,  Lady  Glenorchie 
would  never  consent  to  receive  me  as  your 
wife." 

"In  the  end  she  would  consent  to  anything 
for  me. ' ' 

"She  doesn't  like  me." 

"There  you  are  wrong.  She  admires  you 
immensely." 

"She  admires  me  in  a  certain  hostile  way 


GRISELDA  ii 

because  I  have  her  own  fastidiousness  in 
dress  and  personal  surroundings." 

"She  thinks  you  have  the  best  taste  and 
the  best  manners  and  the  most  dignity  of 
any  girl  she  knows.  She  said  so  when  you 
first  came  down. ' ' 

"She  would  scarcely  say  it  now." 

"Why  not?  The  facts  are  equally  evi- 
dent." 

"Because  in  Lady  Glenorchie's  opinion  the 
possession  of  such  qualities  without  good 
birth  is  a  pretension  and  a  liberty.  It  is 
like  the  presumption  of  newly  rich  persons 
who  emblazon  on  their  carriages  the  arms  of 
noble  families  because  they  happen  to  bear 
the  same  names.  Good  birth  is  to  Lady 
Glenorchie  what  charity  was  to  St.  Paul. 
Without  it  all  other  virtues  profit  nothing. 
I  might  give  my  body  to  be  burned,  but 
until  I  could  prove  some  remote  connection 
with  the  landed  gentry  I  could  never  be 
adopted  by  her  as  a  daughter." 

"I  admit  the  truth  of  what  you  say,  but 
you  mustn't  count  it  for  more  than  it  is 
worth.  My  mother,  like  most  of  us,  is  of  a 
mixed  character.  She  is  proud,  but  she  has 
good  principles;  she  has  a  great  deal  of 
prejudice,  but  also  a  great  deal  of  heart. 


iz  GRISELDA 

She  is  at  once  a  woman  of  the  world  and  a 
Puritan ;  disdainful  of  those  who  are  not  her 
equals,  and  yet  capable  of  humbling  herself 
in  the  dust. ' ' 

"She  is  hard  to  win." 

"Yes,  but  being  won  she  yields  without 
reserve.  You  will  find  it  so  when  once  she 
knows  your  goodness." 

<rl  fear  I  am  perverse  enough  only  to  dis- 
play my  goodness  where  I  have  been  admit- 
ted for  love. ' ' 

"She  will  love  you  too,"  he  said  eagerly. 
"I  see  it  even  now.  She  is  conscious  at  this 
moment  that  in  fighting  against  you  she  is 
fighting  against  her  better  self.  She  will 
give  way. ' ' 

"Possibly;  but  even  so  I  doubt  if  such  an 
unwilling  affection  would  be  that  with  which 
I  could  be  content. ' ' 

Griselda  Grant  spoke  quietly,  but  her  eye 
flashed,  and  the  color  rose  to  her  cheek. 

"I  am  sorry,"  Lord  Lomond  said  gently. 
"I  had  hoped  such  different  things  when 
you  came  here." 

"And  I  too,"  she  said. 

"You?"  he  asked,  glancing  at  her  quickly. 
"What  did  you  hope?  Is  it  possible  that  you 
cared  for  me  a  little?" 


GRISELDA  13 

"Of  all  the  many  things  I  may  have  to 
tell  you,"  she  said  with  simple  gravity, 
"that  shall  be  the  last." 

"I  can't  make  you  out,"  he  said,  with  a 
gesture  of  impatience.  "You  speak  as 
calmly  as  if  our  marriage  would  be  an  affair 
purely  of  the  intellect,  into  which  the  heart 
did  not  enter.  Is  all  that  you  have  said 
meant  to  prepare  me  for  your  refusal?  If 
so,  I'd  rather  know  at  once." 

"I  am  not  ready  yet  to  give  you  my  deci- 
sion. You  asked  me  to  take  time,  and  I'm 
only  taking  it.  But  I  shall  not  need  much 
more.  At  this  moment  I  am  waiting  to'see 
someone  whom  I  must  first  consult.  I  can 
say  nothing  till  I  see  him.  He  has  just 
arrived  from  America.  I  expect  him  here 
to-day." 

"And  you  will  go  by  his  decision?" 

"Not  at  all.  But  I  want  his  advice.  In 
the  end  I  shall  act  on  no  decision  but  my 
own." 

"Who  is  he?     A  relative?" 

"No,  not  a  relative,  and  yet  nearer  than 
one.  His  name  is  Grayburn — Botolph  Gray- 
burn.  He  was  my  father's  friend.  When 
my  father  and  mother  died  he  took  me  and 
brought  me  up.  I  owe  everything  to  him. 


I4  GRISELDA 

I  could  not  act  in  so  grave  a  matter  as  this 
without  consulting  him." 

"You're  very  prudent,  Griselda.  I  don't 
think  I  ever  knew  any  one  so  much  so,  and 
so  young." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  smiling.  "I'm  obliged 
to  be  prudent.  But  don't  call  me  Griselda, 
Lord  Lomond — at  least  not  yet.  It  will  be 
harder,  you  know,  to  go  back  to  the  more 
formal  name  if  that  should  be  necessary. 
Let  everything  be  as  it  has  been  for  a  little 
while  longer.  You  won't  regret  it  in  the 
end,  whatever  answer  I  may  give  you." 

"I  can  only  bow  to  your  wishes." 

"Even  though  ungraciously.  But  let  us 
change  the  subject.  I  have  something  to 
show  you.  Look;  that's  my  father. " 

As  she  spoke  she  drew  from  among  the 
papers  in  the  box  beside  her  a  small  photo- 
graph. He  took  it  from  her  and  looked  at  it 
silently. 

"Of  course  it's  old,"  she  explained,  "and 
faded.  It  was  taken  over  twenty  years  ago. " 

"He's  dead?"  Lord  Lomond  asked,  glanc- 
ing from  the  photograph  to  her. 

"Yes.  He  died  in  America  just  before  I 
was  born.  Do  you  notice  a  likeness  to  any 
one?" 


GRISELDA  15 

"Yes,"  said  Lomond  instantly,  "to  me. 
It's  curious,  isn't  it?  One  would  almost 
have  called  it  a  family  resemblance.  When 
did  you  remark  it?" 

"The  first  time  I  saw  you;  at  Lady 
Keene's.  It  impressed  me  so,  that  I  asked 
Lady  Phillida  who  you  were.  Then  she 
called  you  to  us,  you  remember." 

' '  I  should  suspect  some  unknown  relation- 
ship between  us,"  said  Lomond,  looking 
steadily  at  the  photograph,  "only  that  every- 
body says  I  am  a  'throw  back'  to  the  Tul- 
lochs;  and  except  the  last  Lord  Lomond 
and  his  family  there  have  been  practically 
no  Tullochs  for  a  hundred  years.  I  am 
going  to  add  the  name  to  mine  under  the 
Queen's  sign-manual.  I  shall  have  the 
right  to  do  so  because  of  my  succession  to 
the  Lomond  title." 

"Tell  me  about  that,"  said  Griselda, 
taking  the  photograph  from  his  hand, 
and  putting  it  back  into  the  box,  which 
she  closed.  "How  do  people  succeed 
to  titles?  I  am  so  ignorant  of  all  such 
things. ' ' 

She  leaned  back  in  her  garden  chair,  and 
gazed  at  him  steadily  under  her  long  dark 
lashes.  For  the  moment  his  eyes  were 


X6  GRISELDA 

turned  from  hers,  and  he  did  not  see  how 
she  was  studying  him. 

"It  is  very  simple,"  he  said,  assuming  an 
indifference  which  he  did  not  feel,  fearing 
lest  Griselda  should  again  accuse  him  of 
pride.  "I  succeeded  to  the  barony  of  Glen- 
orchie  on  my  father's  death.  That  is  a 
comparatively  modern  title,  and,  since  it 
belongs  to  the  peerage  of  Great  Britain, 
gives  me  my  seat  in  the  House  of  Lords. 
The  Earldom  of  Lomond,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  very  ancient  and  belongs  to  the  peerage 
of  Scotland.  It  was  one  of  the  original 
Seven  Earldoms  which  play  such  a  part  in 
early  Scottish  history.  Like  the  other  old 
Scotch  Earldoms  it  descends  in  the  female 
line  as  well  as  in  the  male.  When  the  last 
Lord  Lomond  died  some  months  ago,  the 
male  line  became  extinct,  as  it  has  done 
twice  before.  The  title  and  entailed  estates 
then  passed  to  the  heirs  of  Alison  Tulloch, 
who  married  the  first  Lord  Glenorchie. 
Since  I  am  Alison  Tulloch's  great  grand- 
son I  inherit  her  rights.  That's  all." 

"So  that  if  Alison  Tulloch  had  lived  all 
these  years  she  would  have  been  Countess 
of  Lomond  in  her  own  right. ' ' 

"Precisely.      She   would    have    lost    the 


GRISELDA  17 

barony  of  Inversnaid  as  I  did,  but  she 
would  have  retained  the  earldom." 

"Why  did  the  male  line  become  extinct 
when  Lord  Lomond  died?  Did  he  never 
marry?" 

•  "Yes;  he  married  Lady  Jane  Macpherson, 
and  had  one  son.  This  son  went  to  the  bad 
and  was  killed  I  believe  somewhere  in 
America.  There  was  a  report,  my  mother 
says,  that  he  was  hanged,  but  if  old  Lord 
Lomond  knew  he  would  never  tell.  In  any 
case  it  is  certain  that  he  died  before  his 
father,  and  that  there  was  no  heir  between 
him  and  me. ' ' 

"Did  the  son  ever  live  here?" 

"Never  to  my  knowledge.  He  and  the 
father  were  always  at  odds,  so  that  the  one 
remained  here  and  the  other  at  House  of 
Tulloch.  Naturally  we  know  little  about 
them,  for  the  relationship  was  so  distant 
that  there  never  was  any  intimacy  between 
them  and  us.  In  later  years  Lord  Lomond 
had  the  same  dislike  of  me  that  old  men 
often  have  of  their  heirs  and  would  not  see 
me." 

"You  knew  him  though?" 

"I  met  him  once  only.  I  remember  him 
as  a  handsome  old  man  with  a  hard  expres- 


i8  GRISELDA 

sion,  just  as  he  looks  in  his  portrait  in  the 
hall.  He  had  the  air  of  hating  the  whole 
world  and  of  being  aware  that  the  whole 
world  hated  him.  He  belonged  to  the  Court 
during  the  Prince  Consort's  time,  and  the 
Queen  told  me  when  I  dined  at  Windsor 
that  she  had  a  great  respect  for  him.  His 
later  life  was  lonely  and  he  spent  most  of 
his  time  in  travel,  collecting  the  pretty 
things,  of  which,  as  you  see,  this  house  is 
full." 

"This  was  his  home  then?" 

"Yes;  he  disliked  Scotland.  After  the 
death  or  disappearance  of  Inversnaid,  the 
son,  he  shut  up  House  of  Tulloch." 

"You  have  been  there,  I  suppose?" 

"Just  to  look  at  it." 

"Is  it  a  fine  place?" 

"Magnificent,  but  neglected.  When  I 
have  time  I  mean  to  put  it  in  order  and 
make  it  my  Scotch  residence.  Glenorchie 
Castle  is  only  a  small  house,  with  no  partic- 
ular beauty.  The  whole  of  Glen  Tulloch  is 
wild  and  romantic,  one  of  the  finest  bits  of 
scenery  in  the  north.  Whenever  I  think  of 
it  I  seem  to  see  you  there  as  mistress.  My 
mother  could  keep  Glenorchie  Castle,  and 
she  has  her  own  house  at  Tunbridge  Wells. 


GRISELDA  19 

You  would  'nave  no  interference  either  here 
or  at  House  of  Tulloch " 

At  this  moment  the  young  man  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  arrival  of  a  servant  bearing 
on  a  silver  salver  a  card  which  he  offered  to 
Miss  Grant.  Having  glanced  at  the  name 
Griselda  passed  the  card  to  Lord  Lomond. 

"Show  Mr.  Grayburn  into  the  library," 
she  said  to  the  servant,  "and  say  I  will  come 
at  once. ' ' 

"At  last  the  oracle  is  to  speak*, "  Lomond 
said,  rising  as  she  rose.  "Shall  I  carry  your 
box  for  you?" 

"Thanks,  no.  I  want  you  to  stay  here. 
If  the  oracle  is  to  speak  I  prefer  that  it  shall 
be  before  having  seen  you. ' ' 

She  gave  him  a  friendly  nod  and  smile, 
and  went  towards  the  house. 

Lomond  sat  down  again  and  gazed  after 
the  girl's  slight,  graceful  figure,  as  she 
walked  across  the  lawn.  She  was  not  tall, 
but  carried  herself  with  dignity.  With  un- 
usual charm,  rather  than  unusual  beauty,  she 
produced  upon  the  beholder  an  impression 
of  neatness,  completeness,  intelligence,  in- 
dependence, and  pride. 

"I  will  marry  her,"  said  Lomond  to  him- 
self, "if  I  have  to  fight  her  for  her  own 


ao  GRISELDA 

hand.     She  has   in  her    something    better 
than  good  blood. ' ' 
And  yet  he  had  some  misgiving. 


II 


When  Griselda  Grant  entered  the  library 
she  laid  the  box  she  carried  on  the  nearest 
table,  and  went  forward  with  outstretched 
hands  to  meet  the  man  who  stood  awaiting 
her. 

"How  good  you  are  to  come!"  she  cried. 
"To  see  you  makes  me  feel  at  home  again." 

"Especially,"  he  said,  stooping  to  kiss 
her,  "as  we  have  no  home  but  in  each 
other." 

"Why  have  you  stayed  so  long  at  that 
dreadful  Limping  Creek?" 

"In  order  to  enrich  you  by  an  additional 
thousand  pounds  a  year. ' ' 

"The  reason  is  insufficient.  I  would 
rather  have  lost  the  thousand  pounds " 

"And  retained  my  society.  Thank  you, 
my  dear.  What  you  say  is  all  the  more 
charming  from  the  fact  that  I  have  come 
back,  not  to  leave  you  any  more. ' ' 

"Time  alone  can  make  me  credit  that.  I 
can't  conceive  of  your  presence  as  other  than 
intermittent  like  a  fever. ' ' 

21 


22  GRISELDA 

"But  now  it  is  to  be  chronic  like  the 
gout." 

They  both  laughed,  and  Griselda  said : 

"Sit  down.  I  want  to  look  at  you.  I  want 
to  feast  my  eyes  on  your  dear,  old  face.  To 
see  you  again,  after  the  life  I  have  been  lead- 
ing, is  like  going  back  to  Nature  after  Art. 
It  is  like  refreshing  one's  sense  of  sight  with 
a  White  Mountain  landscape,  after  the  car- 
riages and  dresses  of  Hyde  Park." 

"I  have  an  excellent  tailor,"  Grayburn 
said,  as  they  sat  down  side  by  side  on  a 
leather  covered  sofa.  "I  haven't  come 
straight  from  Limping  Creek.  I  should  be 
sorry  to  suggest  wild  nature  too  directly." 

"You  know  what  I  mean,"  she  cried, 
laughing  again.  "If  you  suggest  nature  it 
is  because  you  suggest  home.  If  you  make 
me  think  of  the  White  Mountains  it  is  be- 
cause you  bring  me  a  sense  of  rest.  Besides, 
you  are  more  rugged  than  the  men  I  meet. 
They  are  all  hot-house  grown,  while  you 
have  pushed  your  way  up  among  the  hills." 

"I  don't  know  whether  that  is  flattery  or 
not.  Personally  I  think  I'd  rather  be  a 
palm-tree  than  a  pine." 

1 '  I  like  you  better  as  you  are.  Any  woman 
would. ' ' 


GRISELDA  23 

"Am  I  to  judge  by  this  approbation  that 
the  men  you  have  met  have  not  merited 
your  good  opinion?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  say  that, "  she  said  hastily. 
"On  the  contrary,  indeed.  Perhaps  the 
fact  of  having  spent  one's  life  under  a  pine- 
tree,  so  to  speak,  makes  one  all  the  more  ap- 
preciative of  a  grove  of  palms. ' ' 

"For  preference  or  for  contrast?" 

"For  the  advantage  the  one  gives  the 
other. ' ' 

As  she  spoke  Griselda  was  unconsciously 
comparing  Grayburn  to  the  young  man  she 
had  just  left  on  the  lawn.  The  difference 
between  them  was  more  than  one  of  age  or 
character.  It  was  the  difference  which 
springs  from  circumstance  and  surroundings, 
from  point  of  view  and  manner  of  life. 
Wherever  there  were  resemblances  between 
them  the  dissimilarities  became  even  more 
distinct. 

Both  were  tall — Lomond  straight  and  sol- 
dierly like  a  life-guardsman  on  duty,  Gray  • 
burn  a  little  bent  like  a  watchman  peering 
through  a  storm.  Both  were  strong — 
Lomond  like  a  young  giant  who  has  never 
tried,  Grayburn  like  an  athlete  who  has  spent 
his  life  in  contest.  Both  had  distinction — 


24  GRISELDA 

Lomond  that  of  leisure  and  command,  Gray- 
burn  that  of  energy  and  conquest.  Both  had 
faces  to  attract  attention — Lomond's  from 
its  honesty,  simplicity,  and  calm,  Gray  burn's 
from  its  vigor,  virility  and  determination. 
Both  were  handsome — Lomond  fair  like 
Galahad  going  forth  to  the  quest  with  only 
the  knowledge  of  good,  Grayburn  bronzed 
like  Lancelot  coming  back,  with  the  knowl- 
edge of  good  and  evil. 

A  close  observer  would  have  seen  in  Gray- 
burn  a  man  of  experience  rather  than  of 
feeling,  of  will  rather  than  of  emotion.  The 
deep-set,  steel-blue  eyes  which  rested  on 
Griselda  were  quick  and  keen,  but  they  were 
not  tender.  The  long,  strong,  sinewy,  sun- 
browned  hand  which  held  hers,  closed  with 
the  grip  of  iron  rather  than  with  the  grasp  of 
love.  The  penetrating  regard  with  which 
he  looked  at  her  during  the  minutes  when 
they  were  talking  lightly  was  one  of  scrutiny 
rather  than  of  affection. 

Griselda,  on  her  part,  was  too  frankly  glad 
to  see  him  to  do  more  for  the  moment  than 
admire.  She  flattered  him  and  paid  him 
compliments;  she  openly  praised  his  iron- 
gray  hair,  his  iron-gray  Vandyke  beard,  his 
careful  dress,  and  his  simple  unconscious- 


GRISELDA  25 

ness  of  manner.  It  pleased  her  to  note  that 
a  rough  life  had  not  roughened  him,  and  that 
if  it  had  made  him  a  man  of  adventure,  it  had 
left  him  a  man  of  the  world. 

He  was  forty-seven,  but  looked  older,  and 
seemed  to  Griselda  older  still.  She  had 
never  known  a  time  when  he  was  not  en- 
gaged in  active  affairs  and  connected  with 
white-haired  men  who  were  long  ago  dead 
and  gone.  It  was  only  within  recent  months, 
since  she  had  mingled  more  with  the  world, 
that  she  had  begun  to  see  that  he  might  still 
be  numbered  among  men  comparatively 
young. 

In  her  childhood  she  had  adored  him ;  dur- 
ing her  girlhood  she  had  honored  him ;  but 
since  she  had  become  a  woman  she  had  be- 
gun to  see  that,  closely  as  their  lives  had 
touched,  they  were  strangers  to  each  other. 
She  had  never  seen  much  of  him,  but  during 
the  last  four  years  the  little  had  been  less. 
At  each  meeting  she  found  something  new 
in  him  to  puzzle  her.  She  was  not  afraid  of 
him ;  she  did  not  distrust  him ;  she  only  saw 
him  more  and  more  as  a  man,  and  less  and 
less  as  a  divine,  directing  Providence.  He 
was  always  kind  to  her  but  silent;  gen- 
erous but  perplexing. 


a6  GRISELDA 

"Now  let  us  talk  of  business,"  he  said, 
with  that  suddenness  of  change  to  which 
Griselda  was  accustomed.  "Let  me  see; 
how  long  is  it  since  we  have  met?" 

"Not  quite  six  months." 

"Really?  So  much  has  happened  in  the 
time  that  it  seems  longer.  You  know  I  am 
displeased  with  you?" 

"I  didn't  know.     I  only  guessed  it." 

The  tone  of  his  last  words  caused  Griselda 
to  bridle  a  little,  for  the  weeks  in  which  she 
had  been  her  own  mistress  had  already 
developed  her  sense  of  independence. 

"You  should  not  have  taken  so  many  seri- 
ous steps  without  my  knowledge,"  he  said. 

"I  didn't  know  where  to  write  to  you  after 
you  left  Limping  Creek. ' ' 

"Then  you  should  have  remained  with 
the  Macleods." 

"That  did  not  suit  my  purposes. " 

"And  may  I  venture  to  ask  what  they  are?" 

"Certainly.  Catechize  me,  and  you  will 
receive  prompt  and  comprehensive  an- 
swers." 

"Then,  first  of  all  I  should  like  to  know 
how  you  come  to  be  here  at  Lomond  Lodge, 
the  last  house  in  England  where  I  should 
expect  to  find  you. ' ' 


GRISELDA  27 

"Simply  because  Lady  Glenorchie  asked 
me.  There  are  several  guests ;  and  I  am  one 
of  the  number. ' ' 

"Why  did  she  ask  you?" 

"I  am  given  to  understand  that  it  was  not 
for  my  charms,"  she  said  smiling-,  "but  be- 
cause Lady  Phillida  Wimpole  begged  for  the 
invitation. ' ' 

"And  who  is  Lady  Phillida  Wimpole?" 

"She  is  a  respectable  widow.  She  is  Lord 
Hull's  sister;  and  I  think  her  husband  was 
an  admiral. ' ' 

"I  don't  mean  that,"  he  said  impatiently. 
"What  is  she  to  you?  Why  are  you  living 
with  her?  How  did  you  come  to  know 
her?" 

"Through  an  advertisement  in  the  Morn- 
ing Post." 

"You  mean?" 

"That  I  grew  very  tired  of  the  Macleods. 
They  are  good  people,  but  impossible.  After 
a  week  or  two  with  them  I  could  endure 
their  society  no  longer.  Then,  just  by  ac- 
cident, I  saw  Lady  Phillida's  advertisement. 
Of  course,  there  was  no  name  given,  and  it 
was  very  discreetly  worded.  It  was  simply 
to  the  effect  that  a  widowed  lady,  an  earl's 
daughter,  was  willing  to  chaperon  a  young 


28  GRISELDA 

lady;  nothing  more.  One  had  to  write  to 
some  initials,  in  care  of  a  library.  After 
two  or  three  letters  Lady  Phillida  asked  me 
to  call  at  her  house  in  Queen's  Gate.  We 
became  friends  at  once.  I  liked  her,  and  I 
know  she  likes  me.  Certainly  neither  of  us 
as  yet  has  regretted  our  bargain." 

"Which  was  for  how  much?" 

"The  money  part  of  it  was  for  a  thousand 
pounds.  At  least  that  was  what  Lady  Phil- 
lida called  the  premium.  I  also  pay  a  share 
of  the  house-keeping  expenses  when  we  are 
at  Queen's  Gate." 

"I  have  heard  of  such  arrangements, 
though  I  never  supposed  them  really  to 
exist.  I  must  take  you  out  of  this  trap, 
Griselda,  my  child." 

"It  isn't  a  trap,  Mr.  Grayburn.  It  is 
something  I  have  done  knowingly,  and  with 
a  definite  purpose  before  me. ' ' 

"A  purpose  to " 

"To  observe,"  she  said  quickly.  "I 
wanted  to  know  whether  what  we  thought 
of  was  worth  the  trouble,  whether  the  battle 
was  worth  fighting." 

"And  may  I  ask  what  opinion  you  have 
formed?" 

"None,  as  yet.     That  is  why  I  asked  you 


GRISELDA  29 

to  come  to  England.  There  are  so  many 
things  which  we  must  talk  over  together. ' ' 

"I  thought  we  understood  each  other." 

"Never  quite.  That  is  to  say,  I  never  was 
wholly  sure  whether  or  not  I  wanted  to  make 
this  struggle.  Even  if  it  should  not  be  hard 
it  would  certainly  be  unpleasant.  That  is 
why  I  have  come  among  these  people.  I 
wanted  to  know  whether  the  end  was  worth 
the  means,  and  whether  in  the  new  sphere  I 
should  be  happier  than  in  the  old." 

Grayburn  smiled  slightly,  notwithstanding 
a  growing  expression  of  anxiety. 

"You  are  abnormally  discreet,  but  you 
are  right  perhaps,"  he  said.  "And  what  is 
the  outcome  of  the  trial?"  , 

"I  can't  tell  you  that  in  a  sentence,  even 
if  I  can  tell  you  at  all.  I  have  been  happy 
here — certainly  happier  than  at  St.  Germain, 
and  even  than  at  home.  The  life  I  have 
been  living  is  the  life  I  should  choose — with 
modifications.  But " 

"There  is  no  but.  It  is  the  life  to  which 
you  were  born,  to  which  you  have  a 
right." 

"Possibly.  But  I  was  going  to  say  there 
are  so  many  ways  of  entering  it." 

"You  have  only  one." 


3o  GRISELDA 

"No;  I  have  at  least  two.  I  might  marry 
Lord  Lomond." 

"I  thought  some  idea  of  the  kind  might 
have  been  suggested,"  Gray  burn  said,  with- 
out any  sign  of  surprise,  "but  of  course  it  is 
not  to  be  entertained." 

"Why  do  you  say,  'of  course'?  I  am  en- 
tertaining it. ' ' 

Grayburn  flushed.  When  he  spoke  his 
voice  shook  slightly. 

"Because,  Griselda,  when  you  marry  any 
one,  it  must  be  me." 

"Oh,"  said  the  girl  softly,  her  eyes  dilat- 
ing, as  she  looked  fixedly  at  her  companion. 
"That  is  a  new  thought  to  me.  I  didn't 
know  that  you  expected  it.  Why  did  you 
never  tell  me?" 

"I  left  you  to  guess." 

"It  was  a  good  deal  to  leave  to  chance." 

"I  have  not  trusted  chance,  my  child.  I 
have  trusted  you;  I  knew  that  when  the 
moment  came  we  should  think  alike.  As  I 
have  come  to  your  help,  so  you  will  come 
to  mine." 

"And  can  I  give  you  no  help  but  that?" 

"Listen  to  me,  Griselda,  and  you  will  see. 
I  was  your  father's  friend.  We  were  boys 
together  at  Harrow.  We  shared  in  the  same 


GRISELDA  31 

pleasures  and  the  same  punishments.  From 
the  peccadilloes  of  school  life  we  passed  on 
to  worse.  Together  we  were  cast  off  by  our 
families.  Together  we  went  to  America. 
Your  father's  marriage  was  but  an  incident 
in  a  wild  career.  Your  mother  was  a  simple 
girl  of  humble  birth  who  had  followed  him 
from  Scotland,  with  nothing  but  a  wedding 
ring  to  keep  him  from  forgetting  her  as  he 
had  forgotten  many  another  of  her  kind. 
Then  three  hard,  straight  blows  were  dealt 
by  Fate  in  quick  succession.  Your  father 
died,  and  you  know  the  manner  of  his  death. 
That  night  you  were  born.  Before  morning 
your  mother,  broken  with  suffering  and 
shame,  had  gone  to  the  only  refuge  one 
could  wish  her. ' ' 

"I  know  all  that,"  the  girl  said,  with  a 
touch  of  proud  impatience. 

"True;  but  what  you  don't  know  is  this, 
that  from  that  moment  I  was  changed.  I 
resolved  that  life  should  never  lead  me 
where  it  had  brought  your  father.  Friend- 
less iu  a  strange  land,  disowned  by  my 
family  and  disgraced  by  my  past,  I  set  my- 
self to  retrace  my  steps,  to  win  back  some- 
thing of  what  I  had  lost.  I  resolved  to 
return  to  my  own  country  able  to  recon- 


32  GRISELDA 

quer  the  position  from  which  I  had  been 
expelled." 

"And  you  have  done  so  nobly  and  bravely. 
Now  you  can  have  what  you  have  worked 
for  without  me.  I  have  counted  for  nothing 
in  your  plans. ' ' 

"That  was  so  at  first.  You  did  count  for 
nothing  when  I  began.  I  took  you  because 
you  were  your  father's  child,  and  because 
you  had  no  one  to  look  to  but  me.  I  didn't 
want  you  then ;  you  were  a  burden  to  me, 
but  I  could  not  cast  you  off.  Then,  little  by 
little,  I  began  to  see  that  in  the  new  life  I 
had  planned  you  might  give  me  more  help 
than  any  one.  I  fed  you,  clothed  you,  taught 
you  with  that  end  in  view.  I  took  what 
money  your  father  left  you  and  made  it 
more.  I  made  you  rich  in  growing  rich  my- 
self. I  kept  all  your  father's  secrets  with 
the  intention  to  benefit  not  only  myself  but 
you.  The  time  has  come  for  us  to  act 
together,  to  enjoy  together  what  we — at 
least  I — have  worked  for." 

"Then  into  your  designs  love  has  not 
entered?" 

"Yes,  largely.  I  have  loved  you,  Griselda ; 
you  must  know  that.  We  could  not  have 
lived  together  as  we  have  done,  you  grow- 


GRISELDA  33 

ing  up  and  I  growing  old,  without  affec- 
tion. " 

"The  affection  of  father  and  child." 

"Scarcely  that.  But "  He  broke  off 

with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

4 '  I  am  to  understand,  then, ' '  said  Griselda, 
trying  to  speak  calmly  and  to  conceal  her 
amazement,  "that  you  propose  a  marriage 
which  on  both  sides  would  be  one  of  some 
love  but  more  ambition. ' ' 

44  If  you  choose  to  put  it  so.  I  don't  say 
that  it  is  just." 

"I  should  have  preferred  a  marriage  of 
some  ambition  and  more  love." 

44  We  are  strangely  situated,  my  child.  You 
have  certain  ends  to  gain,  and  I  have  certain 
others.  We  can  be  surest  of  success  in  act- 
ing as  one." 

"I  can't  marry  you,  Mr.  Grayburn,"  the 
girl  said  quietly.  "  Whatever  else  may  hap- 
pen, that  never  will." 

44  You  think  so  now,  Griselda,  because  you 
don't  know  all  the  reasons  for  it." 

"I  know  one  against  it,  however;  one  that 
is  quite  decisive. ' ' 

"Which  is?" 

"I  ought  to  tell  you.  I  care  for  some  one 
else." 


34  GRISELDA 

"This  young  man  here?" 

"Yes." 

"You  have  chosen  badly." 

"I  have  not  chosen  at  all.     It  came." 

"And  he ?" 

"He  feels  as  I  do." 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  very  softly,  "be- 
cause it  will  mean  so  much  unhappiness.  It 
can  never  come  to  anything." 

"Perhaps  not.  But  I  don't  mind  the  un- 
happiness. I  would  rather  have  that  than 
not  have ' ' 

"I  see,"  he  interrupted,  in  a  tone  that 
was  not  unkindly.  "You  are  at  the  age 
which  people  call  romantic.  We  all  pass 
through  it  and  come  out  into  something 
else." 

"I  would  rather  not  live  till  then." 

"Unhappily  one  must.  You  will  outlive 
this  pretty  period  as  you  have  outlived  the 
time  when  you  were  such  a  sweet  little  vi- 
sion on  the  rocks  at  home — in  long  curls  and 
a  short  frock.  But  don't  forget  that  each 
stage  has  its  charms.  There  are  compensa- 
tions even  in  growing  old. ' ' 

"I  am  a  woman  now " 

"A  very  young  one." 

"But    still    a    woman.      Childhood    is    a 


GRISELDA  35 

growth,  womanhood  a  condition.  In  child- 
hood change  is  quick  and  easy;  in  woman- 
hood, even  in  young  womanhood,  it  is  slow 
and  hard." 

"But  still  it  comes." 

"Whatever  other  change  may  come,  the 
one  you  speak  of  never  will. ' 

"As  you  grow  older  you  will  learn  to 
speak  with  less  decision ;  you  will  be  less 
sure. ' ' 

"On  other  points,  perhaps,  but  not  on 
this." 

"On  all.  You  will  see.  At  your  age 
every  year  is  one  of  progress ;  every  month, 
every  day,  makes  clearer  the  necessity  of 
basing  the  castle  of  our  happiness  not  on 
cloud  but  on  the  solid  earth." 

"I  have  the  right  to  use  my  own  judgment, 
even  if  it  were  wrong." 

"And  I  have  the  right  to  save  you  from 
irreparable  mistake." 

"I  am  free " 

"In  law,  but  not  in  duty." 

"I  admit  I  owe  you  gratitude." 

"You  owe  me  everything.  You  owe  me 
more  than  if  I  had  been  your  brother  or 
your  father.  All  that  you  have  I  have  given 
you;  all  that  you  are  I  have  made  you.  You 


36  GRISELDA 

come  here  into  the  haughtiest  society  in  the 
world,  among  people  who  treat  princes  as 
little  more  than  their  equals,  and  you  take 
your  natural  place  among  them.  It  is 
because  I  have  given  you  the  power.  If  you 
are  beautiful  it  is  because  I  have  nourished 
you;  if  you  are  clever  it  is  because  I  have 
trained  you ;  if  you  are  rich  it  is  because  I 
have  worked  for  you.  If  you  are  able  at 
this  moment  to  take  this  tone  of  independ- 
ence it  is  because  I  have  given  you  the 
means.  And,  as  you  know,  there  is  more 
before  you  than  anything  to  which  you  have 
attained ;  only  it  is  I  who  alone  have  the 
power  to  bestow  it  on  you.  Griselda,  my 
child,  you  belong  to  me  as  though  you  were 
my  own  creation.  Your  good  sense  itself 
must  tell  you  so." 

"I  admit  all  your  claims  but  one.  I  am 
ready  to  give  my  life  to  you  in  love  and 
service." 

"But  not  in  marriage?" 

"Not  in  marriage." 

"I  don't  care  for  love;  I  am  in  no  need  of 
service;  marriage  is  the  only  means  by 
which  you  can  reward  me  for  all  that  I  have 
done." 

"You  should  not  have  saved  my  life  if 


GRISELDA  37 

you  were  going  to  put  such  a  price  upon 
it" 

"It  was  worth  it  to  me." 

"But  not  to  me.' 

"Listen  to  me,  Griselda,"  he  said,  taking 
her  hand  in  his.  "I  don't  want  you  to  think 
me  ungenerous,  but  I  must  make  you  under- 
stand. I  don't  want  to  be  brutal,  but  I 
must  be  frank.  I  want  to  save  you  from 
suffering,  and  so  I  would  save  you  from  any 
conflict  of  your  will  with  mine. ' ' 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  it." 

"Oh,  yes  you  are." 

"If  so,  only  because  of  my  love  for  you." 

"If  you  would  but  accept  the  fact  we 
should  both  escape  a  great  deal  of  struggle 
which  will  be  painful  to  me,  and  fruitless  to 
you. ' ' 

"What  fact  must  I  accept?" 

"The  fact  that  on  the  day  I  choose  to 
name  and  in  whatever  place  may  please  me, 
you  will  be  ready  to  become  my  wife." 

"Are  you  so  sure?" 

"So  sure." 

"And  yet  you  said  just  now  that  in  grow- 
ing older  one  speaks  with  less  decision." 

"As  a  rule.  Some  occasions  are  excep- 
tional. ' ' 


38  GRISELDA 

"I  do  not  think  this  one." 

"There  is  no  doubt  as  to  who  will  be  the 
victor  when  the  contestants  are  matched 
unequally." 

"So  one  would  have  said  in  the  case  of 
David  and  Goliath." 

"Life  is  less  of  a  battle  than  of  a  game. 
The  prize  goes  not  to  the  bravest,  but  to  the 
most  skilled. ' ' 

"It  is  a  game  which  I  could  play." 

"But  to  which  you  have  never  yet  put 
your  hand. ' ' 

"I  could  learn." 

"There  are  no  rules.  There  is  only  ex- 
perience. ' ' 

"I  should  be  cautious." 

"But  I  unscrupulous." 

"I  should  give  you  that  advantage  and 
win." 

Grayburn  laughed. 

"I  like  your  spirit,"  he  said.  "You  re- 
mind me  of  your  father.  In  time  to  come 
your  pluck  will  stand  you  in  good  stead.  But 
this  game  is  to  be  mine.  I  am  more  than 
your  match,  as  you  will  see.  But  I  am  will- 
ing to  make  you  a  proposition.  I  will  be 
generous. ' ' 

"Justice  is  all  I  ask." 


GRISELDA  39 

"You  shall  have  it  and  more.  I  will  not 
insist  on  any  of  the  points  I  have  pressed  in 
this  conversation.  I  shall  waive  what  I  think 
my  rights,  and  shall  overlook  what  seems 
to  me  your  duty.  We  shall  not  discuss  the 
subject  further.  We  shall  only  play  the 
game  in  silence,  you  with  your  resources,  I 
with  mine;  and  the  prize  shall  go  to  the 
victor. ' ' 

"I  will  not  accept  your  terms,"  she  re- 
plied, with  dignity.  "I  will  not  put  myself 
in  the  position  of  a  hunted  creature  eluding 
chase,  or  a  plotter  evading  counter-plot.  I 
have  given  you  my  answer.  I  can  only 
stand  by  it.  I  do  not  see  how  any  further 
discussion  can  make  clearer  the  situation." 

"I  agree  with  you  there,"  Grayburn  said 
promptly.  "I  think  we  have  talked  enough. 
You  know  my  mind,  and  I  know  yours.  For 
the  rest  we  had  better  wait." 

"You  have  made  me  very  unhappy.  You 
must  be  aware  of  that. ' ' 

"Possibly,  my  child;  but  that  will  pass. 
You  must  try  not  to  be  more  angry  with  me 
than  you  can  help. ' ' 

"I  love  you  too  much  to  be  angry;  I  am 
only  deeply  hurt. ' ' 

"The  worst  of  wounds  will  heal." 


40  GRISELDA 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  she  followed  his 
example. 

"Don't  you  think  I  ought  to  go  away?" 
he  asked,  "and  if  so,  when  shall  I  see  you 
again?  I  am  at  the  hotel." 

"You  can't  go  till  after  you  have  seen  my 
friends.  Lady  Glenorchie  is  sure  to  be  on 
the  lawn  or  in  the  garden.  It  is  almost  tea- 
time." 

"Ought  I  to  meet  her?" 

"You  must." 

"Then  I  shall  not  shrink  from  duty." 

"I  want  you  to  see  Lady  Phillida,  too." 

"I  shall  feel  like  Perseus  coming  to  deliver 
Andromeda  from  the  dragon." 

"She  is  not  a  dragon,  as  you  will  find." 

"I  know  her  already,"  Grayburn  said, 
laughing,  as  they  moved  towards  the  door ; 
"the  widowed  lady,  an  earl's  daughter,  will- 
ing to  chaperon  a  young  girl. ' ' 

"Wait." 

"Willingly.    I  could  have  waited  longer." 

Griselda  smiled,  but  said  nothing.  She 
was  excited  by  the  fact  that  her  will  was  pit- 
ted against  his.  She  had  wild  blood  in  her 
veins,  and  a  sense  of  struggle  brought  with 
it  something  of  elation.  Besides,  she  was 
almost  glad  that  her  very  desperation  was 


GRISELDA  41 

driving  her  into  the  haven  where  she  scarcely 
dared  to  seek  a  refuge,  but  in  which  she 
would  gladly  be. 


Ill 


After  Miss  Grant  had  left  him  Lord  Lom- 
ond reseated  himself  in  his  wicker  chair  and 
fell  into  a  deep  reverie. 

From  the  oriel  window  of  her  sitting-room 
his  mother  watched  him  anxiously.  A 
mingling  of  pain  and  anger  was  rising  in  her 
heart — of  pain  because  her  only  son  was  on 
the  eve  of  his  first  suffering,  of  anger  that 
such  mischance  as  she  now  suspected  should 
touch  her  house  or  her. 

When  Griselda  Grant  had  come  to  Lomond 
Lodge,  Lady  Glenorchie  had  liked  her.  She 
was  only  another  pretty  girl  whom  Phillida 
Wimpole  had  taken  under  her  protection, 
and  Lady  Glenorchie  was  fond  of  freshness 
and  beauty  about  her,  as  she  was  of  flow- 
ers and  sunshine.  Living  out  of  the  noisy 
world,  priding  herself  on  being  a  great 
country  lady,  changing  her  abode  only  from 
Rusthall  Court  to  Glenorchie  Castle,  and 
from  Glenorchie  Castle  back  to  Rusthall 
Court,  she  nevertheless  enjoyed  the  breath 
of  London  air  which  her  son  and  her  son's 
42 


GRISELDA  43 

friends  brought  into  her  tranquil  life.  She 
would  not  go  to  the  world,  but  she  liked  to 
have  the  world  come  to  her.  She  wanted 
to  be  sought  out  and  honored  by  those  whom 
she  herself  might  perhaps  neither  have  hon- 
ored nor  sought  out.  She  opened  her  doors 
with  discreet  and  gentle  welcome  to  the  new, 
the  crude,  and  the  clever,  as  well  as  to  the 
stately  and  the  old.  She  did  so  somewhat 
as  the  Queen  gathers  around  her  royal  table 
princes,  peers,  and  politicians,  herself  too 
great  to  make  distinctions  among  those  of 
lesser  rank,  permitting  them  to  approach 
her,  but  remaining  in  her  own  thought  and 
person  perceptibly  apart. 

Lady  Glenorchie  had  accepted  Griselda 
Grant  as  she  had  accepted  a  hundred  other 
girls.  She  had  gone  further  still.  She  had 
found  in  the  girl  something  new  and  sympa- 
thetic— a  rare  union  of  those  virtues  which 
Lady  Glenorchie  most  commended,  and 
which  she  feared  were  growing  out  of  date — 
beauty  going  with  high-breeding,  self-reli- 
ance with  gentleness,  self-respect  with  def- 
erence to  others,  intelligence  with  sweetness, 
and  fastidious  refinement  with  simplicity. 
Griselda's  dark  hair,  dark  eyes,  and  rich, 
creamy  complexion  had  pleased  Lady  Glen- 


44  GRISELDA 

orchie  from  the  very  contrast  they  presented 
to  what  had  been  at  the  same  age  her  own 
attractions. 

For  the  first  few  days  of  her  visit  at  Lom- 
ond Lodge  Griselda  was  very  happy.  She 
had  met  with  instant  favor,  and  hoped  to 
win  affection.  Then  the  manner  of  her 
hostess  suddenly  changed;  it  became  not 
merely  cold  but  hostile.  Griselda  was  at 
first  surprised  and  then  indignant. 

Lady  Glenorchie  on  her  part  was  not 
happy.  She  had  had  confidence  that  Lom- 
ond would  never  deal  lightly  with  his  name 
and  place.  She  had  that  confidence  still, 
only  with  alarming  possibilities  of  struggle 
and  pain  coming  into  view.  A  week  had  not 
passed  after  Lady  Phillida's  arrival,  when 
Lady  Glenorchie  began  to  detect  in  her  son's 
manner  towards  Miss  Grant  that  subtle  touch 
of  intimacy,  which  must  have  dated  from  a 
closer  acquaintance  than  that  of  which  the 
mother  had  been  aware.  For  almost  the 
first  time  in  her  life  Lady  Glenorchie  was 
conscious  of  a  strong  antagonism  between 
herself  and  a  member  of  that  outside  world 
from  whom  she  had  thought  herself  too  far 
removed  for  conflict.  The  American  girl 
was  quick  to  perceive  and  resent  it.  It 


GRISELDA  45 

stung  her  pride  and  humiliated  her  self- 
respect. 

"Lady  Glenorchie,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"thinks  me  an  adventuress,  ready  to  ensnare 
her  son.  How  dare  she  have  such  a 
thought!" 

And  afterwards,  with  the  fairness  which 
was  one  of  her  characteristics,  would  come 
the  reflection,  "Why  should  she  not?  After 
all,  is  she  not  justified?  I  come  among  these 
people  from  no  one  knows  where,  giving  no 
credentials.  Lady  Phillida's  account  of  me 
is  inconsequent  and  confused.  This  lady 
sees  that  her  son  loves  me.  Were  I  to  marry 
him,  could  I  do  so  otherwise  than  in  the 
character  which  she  ascribes  to  me?" 

But  reason  as  she  would,  the  girl  could 
not  meekly  bend  to  the  constant,  courteous, 
barely  perceptible  indications  of  Lady  Glen- 
orchie's  ill-opinion  to  which  she  was  daily 
subjected.  A  word,  a  gesture,  a  quiver  of 
the  eyelids,  on  the  one  side  never  failed  to 
receive  its  response  from  the  other.  Hos- 
tilities were  in  that  secret,  diplomatic  stage 
which  precedes  the  open  rupture,  but  the 
situation  was  strained  as  far  as  it  could  be, 
while  remaining  generally  unobserved.  Miss 
Grant  had  begged  Lady  Phillida  to  return 


46  GRISELDA 

to  London,  and  Lady  Glenorchie  began  to 
feel  that  she  must  do  the  same.  As  she 
watched  her  son  from  her  sitting-room  win- 
dow she  had  the  inspiration  to  consult  him 
on  the  subject.  This  would  be  to  hasten  the 
battle,  but  it  might  lead  perhaps  to  victory ; 
in  any  case  it  would  be  better  than  suspense. 
Lady  Glenorchie  took  a  book  and  her  work- 
bag  and  went  down  stairs. 

Her  appearance  on  the  terrace  roused 
Lord  Lomond  from  his  reverie.  He  rose  at 
once  and  crossed  the  lawn  towards  her, 
meeting  her  as  she  came  down  the  steps. 
Both  in  beauty  and  bearing,  mother  and  son 
were  matched — he  long  and  strong  of  limb, 
and  frank  and  fearless  of  face;  she  the 
embodiment  of  ageing  elegance,  slender, 
graceful,  gracious,  a  being  who  had  never 
known,  any  struggle  for  existence  nor  any 
competition  for  success,  to  whom  all  that  is 
lofty  and  lovely  in  life  had  come  as  a  matter 
of  course.  Lady  Glenorchie  was  not  modern ; 
she  might  have  been  a  Cosway  beauty  grow- 
ing old.  Her  mental  horizon  was  not  a  wide 
one,  but  it  was  clear  and  picturesque.  Her 
conception  of  life  was  that  of  a  round  of 
high  duties  worthily  performed.  The  men 
of  her  family  had  fought  for  their  country, 


GRISELDA  47 

and  their  names  were  on  every  page  of  the 
history  of  the  Black  Watch ;  the  women  had 
married  Scotch  lords  and  lairds,  their  equals 
in  birth  and  breeding.  The  base,  the  com- 
mon, the  sordid,  had  always  been  removed 
from  them;  they  had  lived  on  a  high  level, 
and  left  behind  them  a  legacy  of  pride. 
Lady  Glenorchie  had  entered  into  it,  trans- 
mitting it  to  her  son.  It  was  evident  in  all 
her  actions;  it  underlay  her  gentleness  of 
manner  and  modesty  of  speech;  it  was  in 
the  kindliness  of  her  eyes,  and  the  sweetness 
of  her  smile;  it  seemed  to  emanate  from  the 
very  laces  and  silks  of  her  attire,  and  from 
the  gems  upon  her  small  white  hands;  it 
was  in  the  courteous  condescension  with 
which  she  welcomed  her  son's  newest  friend, 
as  well  as  in  the  homage  with  which  she 
bent  before  the  Queen — a  dominant,  uncon- 
querable, illimitable  pride  of  race  and  place 
and  personal  circumstance,  which  could 
scarcely  imagine  a  slight  upon  itself,  and 
found  it  hard  to  admit  an  equal. 

As  Lomond  held  out  his  hand  to  take  her 
bag  and  book  Lady  Glenorchie  received  the 
attention  with  a  smile  which  seemed  at  once 
the  acceptance  and  acknowledgment  of 
homage. 


48  GRISELDA 

"I  came  out,  Nigel,"  she  said,  as  she 
walked  with  him  across  the  lawn  to  the  shady 
corner  he  had  just  left,  "because  I  saw  you 
were  alone. ' ' 

"I'm  glad  you've  come,  mother,"  he 
replied.  "We  see  so  little  of  each  other 
when  the  house  is  full." 

"It's  a  little  too  full,  just  now,"  she  said. 
"Don't  you  think  so?" 

"We  have  room  for  more,  however,"  he 
answered,  moving  for  her  a  chair  into  the 
shadow  of  the  group  of  pines. 

He  put  a  footstool  at  her  feet,  and  ar- 
ranged her  long  scarf  of  white  lace  around 
her  shoulders.  Then  he  placed  at  her  side 
a  table  for  her  work  bag  and  her  book. 
Lady  Glenorchie's  delicate  beauty  seemed  to 
command  these  small  acts  of  service,  as  a 
fragile  work  of  art  calls  for  care. 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  quantity  so  much 
as  of  quality,"  she  said  as  her  white  jeweled 
fingers  opened  slowly  the  golden  fastening 
of  the  bright-colored  silken  bag.  "Personal 
qualities  are  like  certain  perfumes.  They 
are  subtle,  but  all  pervading." 

Lady  Glenorchie's  emphasis  was  as  fine  as 
the  fading  pink  on  her  cheek,  or  the  old  lace 
on  her  shoulders.  All  three  were  equally 


GRISELDA  49 

exquisite  in  their  different  natures,  and 
equally  perceptible. 

"Do  you  mean  Marignan?"  Lomond 
asked,  as  he  sat  down.  ' '  He  is  a  little  before 
the  public  eye,  so  to  speak,  when  he  is  in  a 
house.  But  then,  he  is  a  Frenchman  and  an 
artist,  so  that  he  can't  be  just  like  ourselves. 
And  besides,  Lady  Phillida  draws  him 
on." 

"Monsieur  de  Marignan  is  a  Frenchman 
and  an  artist,  and  you  might  also  have  added, 
un  gentilhomme.  He  could  nerve  be  de 
trop." 

"Oh,  there  is  some  one  who  is  de  tropf" 
said  Lomond,  with  a  slight  start  and  looking 
enquiringly  at  his  mother.  "Who  is  it?  It 
can't  be  Waynflete?" 

"No,  it  is  not  Mr.  Waynflete,"  said  Lady 
Glenorchie,  examining  critically  the  piece 
of  embroidery  on  which  she  was  at  work. 

"Nor  Miss  Dumbleton?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"Nor  Lady  Phillida?" 

"Not  precisely.' 

"Then  it  is  precisely " 

"I  must  not  let  you  think,"  said  Lady 
Glenorchie,  slightly  shifting  her  ground, 
"that  I  object  personally  to  any  of  our 


5o  GRISELDA 

guests.  I  am  not  annoyed;  I  am  only 
anxious. ' ' 

"On  whose  account,  mother?" 

"Miss  Grant's." 

"And  why?" 

Lord  Lomond's  voice  was  soft  and  deep ; 
his  attitude,  as  he  leaned  across  the  table 
towards  his  mother,  impressively  still. 

"I  am  anxious,"  Lady  Glenorchie  said 
tranquilly,  choosing  among  her  many- 
colored  silken  threads,  "that  there  should 
be  no  misunderstandings.  It  is  natural  for 
so  young  a  girl  to  take  little  attentions  that 
signify  nothing  as  meaning  a  great  deal 
more." 

"Do  you  mean  attentions  from  me?" 

"Yes,  Nigel.  It  could  be  neither  for  her 
happiness  nor  yours  if  false  ambitions " 

"On  whose  part?" 

"On  hers,  naturally." 

"I  don't  think  she  has  any." 

"But  if  she  had?  if  she  were  to  entertain 
them?  For  a  girl  of  her  class  it  could 
only ' ' 

"What  class,  mother?" 

"Don't  ask  me  to  define  what  must  be 
evident  of  itself,  Nigel.  I  hold  no  brief 
against  her.  I  am  speaking  for  her  good. 


GRISELDA  51 

And  I  repeat  that  she  might  easily  under- 
stand your  manner  towards  her  to  mean 
what  you  and  I  know  it  never  could 
mean." 

Lomond  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  for 
a  moment  closed  his  eyes.  In  his  expression 
there  was  something  of  pain,  something  of 
determination. 

"Suppose,"  he  said,  after  a  few  moments' 
silence,  looking  towards  his  mother,  but  not 
changing  his  position — "I  only  say  suppose, 
— Miss  Grant  and  I  were  to  wish  to  marry?" 

' '  You  would  not  marry  a — a — a  foreigner, 
Nigel,  I  hope." 

"Why  not?  The  Duke  of  Perthshire  mar- 
ried a  foreigner. ' ' 

"Yes;  a  Colonna.  That  is  scarcely  the 
same  thing. ' ' 

"And  Lord  Oban." 

"Yes;  a  Windisch-Grats. " 

"And  Lord  Banavie. " 

"A  Castellane.  None  of  these  were 
Americans. ' ' 

"But  do  you  object  to  Americans  in  them- 
selves, all  and  singly?" 

"No,  of  course  not.  Lady  Skye  is  an 
American;  Mrs.  Murray  of  Invermenzies  is 
another.  These  were  women  of  position  in 


5*  GRISELDA 

their  own  land  before  they  became  so  in 
ours." 

"And  Miss  Grant  is  a  lady.  You  can't 
refuse  to  admit  that,  mother." 

"Undoubtedly  a  lady.  Your  Solicitor's 
daughter,  too,  is  a  lady;  only  not  such  a 
lady  as  you  should  marry.  I  know  you  are 
not  thinking  of  it ;  but  since  you  have  raised 
the  question  I  discuss  it." 

"But  if  I  were  thinking  of  it?" 

"It  would  be  to  decide  against  it." 

"And  if  I  did  not?" 

"Are  these  questions  to  any  purpose?" 
she  asked,  turning  for  the  first  time  from  her 
work,  and  looking  at  him  with  a  smile  which 
seemed  to  take  from  her  words  their  haugh- 
tiness of  tone.  "Do  we  not  both  know  that 
Lomond  of  Tulloch  and  Glenorchie  of  Glen- 
orchie  could  never  do  anything  unworthy  of 
his  name?" 

"I  hope  so,"  he  responded,  with  a  pride 
equal  to  her  own.  ' '  May  there  not,  however, 
be  a  question  as  to  what  is  unworthy,  and 
what  is  not?" 

"Never  in  my  mind,  and,  I  think,  never  in 
yours.  Those  born  in  a  certain  rank 
have  an  instinctive  sense  of  dignity  and 
honor. ' ' 


GRISELDA  53 

"And  must  dignity  and  honor  always  have 
the  first  place  in  life?" 

"Perhaps  not.  I  am  scarcely  prepared  to 
grade  and  tabulate  our  duties.  People  like 
ourselves  have  no  need  to  give  reasons  to 
justify  their  acts. ' ' 

"I  should  like  to  have  some  for  mine." 

"There  are  conditions,  Nigel,  which  are 
unaffected  by  argument.  There  are  circum- 
stances in  which  all  the  reasons  you  could 
plead  would  be  one  way;  while  the  decision 
of  one's  hereditary,  infallible  judgment 
would  go  the  other." 

"You  mean  that  in  the  case  of  my  wishing 
to  marry  Miss  Grant  no  arguments  would 
have  weight.  The  question  is  pre- judged, 
and  sentence  is  given  beforehand. ' ' 

"Yes,  Nigel.  Since  you  put  a  point-blank 
question  I  can  only  give  you  a  point-blank 
reply.  That  is  why  I  beg  you,  for  her  sake, 
to  be  discreet,  more  discreet  even  than  there 
may  be  need  to  be. " 

"And  yet,  if  we  knew  anything  of  her 
family  we  might  find " 

"Why  should  we  know  anything  of  her 
family?  How  can  they  interest  us?  Phil- 
lida  says,  jokingly  I  suppose,  that  they  are 
connections  by  marriage  of  the  Wimpoles. 


54  GRISELDA 

Let  it  be  so.  Nothing  is  changed  thereby. 
Nothing  is  rendered  thereby  one  whit  less 
impossible." 

"Then  your  objection  to  her  is  per- 
sonal?" 

"My  son,"  said  Lady  Glenorchie,  with  a 
sudden  strength  of  emphasis,  letting  her 
embroidery  fall  into  her  lap,  and  betraying 
more  emotion  than  she  had  as  yet  allowed 
to  become  visible,  "My  son,  I  have  no  ob- 
jection to  her.  Between  a  young  woman  of 
her  sphere  and  me  there  is  no  point  of  con- 
tact, and  therefore  no  point  of  difference. 
She  is  doubtless  of  excellent  personal  char- 
acter, and  an  adornment  to  her  rank  in  life. 
I  do  not  know.  I  have  no  means  of  judging. 
Let  us  admit  everything  to  which  she  can 
have  a  claim.  She  still  remains  a  person  of 
another  stamp,  another  order,  than  ours. 
Why  should  we  discuss  any  longer  a  subject 
which  can  have  no  great  interest  to  either 
you  or  me?  Phillida  and  4ier  friend  will 
have  left  us  in  a  few  days'  time,  and  the 
incident  of  their  visit  will  soon  have  been 
forgotten." 

Lomond  made  no  reply.  He  was  debating 
within  himself  as  to  how  far  a  man,  situated 
as  he,  was  free  to  follow  his  own  wishes,  and 


GRISELDA  55 

how  far  he  had  the  right  to  break  his  moth- 
er's heart. 

As  the  two  sat  thus  in  silent  conflict,  each 
divining  what  was  passing  in  the  other's 
mind,  Botolph  Grayburn  and  Griselda  Grant 
came  out  in  view,  passing  through  the  open 
French  window  from  the  library  to  the  lawn. 


IV 


Coming  from  the  dim,  cool,  sombrely-fur- 
nished room,  Grayburn  paused,  dazzled  a  lit- 
tle by  the  brilliancy  of  the  scene  before  him. 
He  drew  a  long  breath  of  pleasure. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  he  said,  as  Griselda 
was  about  to  descend  from  the  terrace  to  the 
lawn.  "Let  me  look." 

Long  absence  had  made  the  English  land- 
scape better  than  new  in  Grayburn 's  eyes. 
He  had  come  back  to  it  after  years  of  wan- 
dering, knowing  himself  forgotten  by  friend 
and  family  alike.  For  this  he  cared  but 
little ;  it  was  not  of  them  he  had  dreamed  in 
his  twenty  years  of  self-denial  and  adven- 
ture ;  it  was  of  the  land  itself,  with  its  rich, 
restful  beauty,  its  scent  of  fruit  and  flower, 
and  its  responsive  soil.  He  was  of  the  type 
of  Englishman  who  adapts  himself  easily  to 
a  new  environment,  and  yet  in  it  is  secretly 
an  exile.  From  the  moment  when  his  re- 
generation had  begun  Grayburn  had  cher- 
ished but  one  hope,  to  come  back  to  the  land 
from  which  he  had  fled,  and  for  which  his 
56 


GRISELDA  57 

heart  had  never  ceased  to  hunger — to  come 
back  rich,  respected,  able  to  command 
esteem.  Then  he  would  find  himself  a  ref- 
uge which  should  be  his  own,  to  which  he 
could  give  himself,  on  which  he  could  spend 
himself,  and  from  which  he  could  never  be 
bidden  to  depart.  Human  love  had  but  a 
small  place  in  his  heart  He  loved  his  coun- 
try, not  as  a  patriot  but  as  a  son ;  he  loved 
her  hills,  her  streams,  her  fields,  her  trees, 
her  embowered  lanes,  her  storied  villages, 
her  time-worn  churches  engirdled  by  time- 
worn  tombs, — he  loved  all  these  with  an 
ardor  of  longing  that  had  nerved  him  to 
effort,  sustained  him  in  depression,  and  had 
even  kept  him  from  returning  till  his  work 
was  done. 

"Look,"  he  said  to  Griselda.  "This  is 
what  I  have  dreamt  of  for  more  than  twenty 
years. ' ' 

The  western  sunlight  was  slanting  athwart 
a  glade  of  pines,  turning  each  trunk  to 
a  pillar  of  bronze.  The  sheen  of  the  shorn 
lawn  starred  with  daisies  was  like  that  of 
velvet.  Beyond  the  lawn  were  flowers. 
Beyond  the  flowers  the  landscape  passed 
into  pasture  and  park,  till  it  ended  amid  the 
huge,  historic  trees  of  Swinley. 


58  GRISELDA 

"It  is  what  I  have  dreamt  of,"  Grayburn 
repeated.  "It  is  what  I  have  worked  for. 
It  is  what  I  shall  have. ' ' 

"It  is  what  you  deserve,"  Griselda  said. 
"It  is  a  reward  which  there  is  nothing  left 
but  to  take." 

"Nothing  left  but  to  receive— from  you." 

"I  have  nothing  to  give  you  but  grati- 
tude." 

"And  I  ask  no  more.  Gratitude  has  its 
dictates,  as  well  as  love." 

"Yes,  but  not  the  same." 

"One  word  more,  Griselda,"  Grayburn 
said,  with  a  quick  change  of  tone.  "Over 
there  sits  the  man  you  think  you  love,  on 
whom  you  would  lavish  what  you  owe  to  me. 
Understand  that  I  shall  never  permit  it. 
Remember  that  in  this  situation  it  is  I  who 
am  master.  Before  we  join  that  lady  and 
her  son  let  me  make  clear  to  you  again  that 
I  leave  nothing  to  your  choice,  that  I  can 
break  your  will  more  easily  than  you  mine." 

"Don't  threaten  me, ' 'the  girl  said,  quietly. 
"It  is  not  the  way;  it  is  not  to  any  menaces 
that  I  shall  finally  submit.  But  you  your- 
self have  advised  that  at  present  we  say  no 
more.  Let  us  wait.  Let  us  trust  not  to  a 
conflict  of  wills,  but  to  a  council  of  hearts." 


GRISELDA  59 

"I  am  willing  to  wait  and  to  trust,  Grisel- 
da.  If  I  speak  strongly  it  is  because  this 
scene  puts  fire  in  my  blood.  Besides,  I 
want  to  warn  you,  to  keep  you  from  unnec- 
essary pain.  I  am  accustomed  to  use  any 
means  that  will  secure  my  ends.  I  want  you 
to  know  that  in  this  case  I  will  do  so." 

"What  means?"  faltered  the  girl.  For  the 
first  time  she  felt  frightened. 

"The  readiest,"  he  said,  as  he  went  down 
the  steps.  "Your  friends  are  looking  at  us. 
We  ought  to  join  them." 


As  they  crossed  the  lawn,  Lomond  rose 
and  came  to  meet  them. 

"Lord  Lomond,"  said  Griselda,  "I  want 
to  introduce  to  you  my  oldest  and  best 
friend,  Mr.  Grayburn." 

"Any  friend  of  Miss  Grant's  is  welcome 
at  Lomond  Lodge,"  said  the  young  man, 
extending  his  hand,  "and  especially  one 
who  has  the  good  luck  to  be  the  best  and 
oldest." 

"Oldest,  perhaps,"  rejoined  Grayburn, 
"but  as  to  being  best,  I  begin  to  be  a  little 
in  doubt  since  hearing  of  the  kindness  of 
newer  friends." 

"I  came,  I  saw,  I  conquered,"  said  Miss 
Grant,  laughingly. 

"And  now,"  said  Lord  Lomond, "you  have 
only  to  occupy  the  territory  you  have  won." 

"Have  the  natives  been  disarmed?"  asked 
Grayburn. 

"Not  by  any  means,"  Griselda  replied. 

"Then,"  said  Grayburn,  "you  must  either 
fight  them  or  run  away." 
60 


GRISELDA  61 

"There  is  a  third  course,"  Lomond  sug- 
gested. 

"Which  is ?"  Gray  burn  began. 

"To  form  an  offensive  and  defensive 
alliance. ' ' 

They  spoke  lightly,  as  though  attaching 
no  more  than  a  frivolous  interest  to  their 
words,  and  yet  they  were  conscious  of  an 
undercurrent  of  serious  intention.  During 
the  minute  they  stood  together  each  of  the 
men  attempted  to  form  some  slight  estimate 
of  the  other. 

"A  gentleman,  at  least,"  was  Lomond's 
first  thought,  as  he  remarked  Grayburn's 
careful  dress  and  quiet  bearing.  "Perhaps 
a  gentleman  adventurer,"  he  continued,  look- 
ing a  second  time  into  the  hard,  handsome 
face,  taking  note  also  of  the  restless  steel- 
blue  eyes. 

"A  feudal  lord  in  a  golf  suit,"  was  Gray- 
burn's  reflection.  "Modern  good  looks  and 
old-fashioned  good  manners." 

"If  there  is  to  be  any  alliance,"  said  Miss 
Grant,  taking  Grayburn's  arm,  "the  high 
powers  should  proceed  to  treat  together. 
Come  and  let  me  introduce  you  to  Lady 
Glenorchie. ' ' 

"Mother,"  said    Lord  Lomond,   as  they 


62  GRISELDA 

came  under  the  group  of  pines,  "this  is 
Miss  Grant's  friend,  Mr.  Gray  burn." 

As  Grayburn  bowed  Lady  Glenorchie 
smiled  with  ready  welcome.  No  feeling  of 
her  own  could  make  her  forget  for  an  instant 
the  hospitality  due  from  a  great  Scotch  lady 
towards  even  a  passing  guest. 

"Mr.  Grayburn's  name,"  she  said,  "takes 
me  back  at  once  to  my  girlhood.  I  had  a 
friend  named  Maria  Grayburn,  dead  now 
many  years  ago. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Grayburn 
promptly,  "She  married  a  Colonel  Ordway, 
and  died  the  same  year.  She  was  my 
cousin's  daughter. ' ' 

"Then  you  are  of  the  Lincolnshire  Gray- 
burns,  of  Grayburn  Hall?  Won't  you  sit 
down?" 

She  pointed  to  a  chair  near  her  own,  and 
Grayburn  took  it. 

"I  am  of  that  family,"  he  said.  "But  I 
have  been  out  of  England  for  many  years. ' ' 

Lady  Glenorchie  looked  at  him  with  an 
interest  she  did  not  often  show  towards  a 
stranger.  The  thought  of  a  new  possibility 
was  forming  in  her  mind.  "Is  this  man  to 
be  my  ally  or  hers?"  she  asked  herself. 
The  fact  that  he  was  a  Grayburn  of  Lincoln- 


GRISELDA  63 

shire  placed  him  on  the  footing  of  one  with 
whom  she  could  treat  as  an  equal.  She  had 
not  expected  this  in  one  of  Miss  Grant's 
friends,  and  was  so  impressed  by  the  discov- 
ery that  she  did  not  observe  Lomond  and 
Griselda  Grant  talking  in  low  and  earnest 
tones  imprudently  far  away. 

"You  have  been  in  America  perhaps?" 
Lady  Glenorchie  asked. 

"Yes,  for  more  than  twenty  years." 

"That  wonderful  country,  which  we 
Scotch  and  English  are  only  beginning  to 
understand.  For  me  it  is  like  a  new  dis- 
covery. ' ' 

"That  is  quite  true,"  Gray  burn  said,  with 
some  little  emphasis.  "The  parent  coun- 
tries of  America,  England  especially,  have 
never  quite  taken  in  the  fact  that  a  great 
new  nation,  with  new  ideals,  and  new  na- 
tional standards,  has  sprung  up  almost  unob- 
served. It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that 
America  is  a  new  discovery  to  the  majority 
of  our  countrymen. " 

' 1 1  suppose  it  is  the  fact  that  our  ideals  are 
different  which  makes  it  so  hard  for  us  to  find 
a  common  point  of  view.  I  have  met  a  good 
many  Americans,  my  son's  friends,  but  they 
have  always  seemed  so  far  away  from  me." 


64  GRISELDA 

"Is  it  not,  perhaps,  that  we — I  speak  as  an 
Englishman — do  not  admit  quite  frankly 
enough  the  American's  right  to  be  different 
from  ourselves?  We  do  so  readily  in  the  case 
of  the  Frenchman  or  the  Spaniard.  We 
expect  him  to  have  another  fashion  of  say- 
ing and  doing  things  than  ours.  When  we 
see  it  we  are  interested  and  amused.  The 
European  foreigner  is  so  distant  from  us 
that  we  rather  enjoy  his  point  of  view  from 
its  contrast  to  our  own.  The  American,  on 
the  other  hand,  is  mentally  and  socially  so 
near  us  that  we  refuse  to  grant  him  any  lib- 
erty to  be  different  at  all.  Because  he 
speaks  our  language  we  demand  that  he  shall 
speak  it  as  we  do.  Because  his  habits  are  so 
like  our  own  we  demand  that  they  shall  be 
exactly  the  same." 

"You  mean,"  said  Lady  Glenorchie,  "that 
the  Englishman  enjoys  the  difference  of  type 
abroad,  but  tolerates  only  uniformity  at 
home." 

"Precisely,"  said  Gray  burn,  leaning  for- 
ward in  his  chair  and  speaking  with  warmth. 
"And  he  demands,  unconsciously  perhaps, 
that  the  American  shall  differ  as  little  from 
himself  as  the  gentleman  of  Westmoreland 
from  the  gentleman  of  Kent.  There  is  the 


GRISELDA  65 

cause  of  whatever  social  friction  may  exist 
between  the  two.  The  Englishman  of  the 
upper  classes  acknowledges  but  one  model 
of  an  Anglo-Saxon  gentleman.  When  he 
sees  another  he  resents  it. ' ' 

"And  the  American?"  asked  Lady  Glen- 
orchie. 

"Oh,  he  is  just  as  bad,"  Grayburn 
answered  quickly,  "just  as  intolerant.  To 
him  the  man  who  speaks  English,  and  who 
doesn't  correspond  to  some  type  he  has 
known  in  New  England  or  New  York,  in 
the  South  or  in  the  West,  is  little  short  of  a 
freak  of  nature. ' ' 

"And  you?  What  position  do  you  take 
up?" 

"Oh,  I  am  nothing — or  both,"  said  Gray- 
burn,  smiling.  "I  have  always  been  an 
Englishman  in  America.  I  suppose  I  shall 
always  be  an  American  in  England. ' ' 

Lady  Glenorchie  smiled  too  as  she  said : 

"Does  not  that  seem  rather  unfortunate? 
Is  it  not  best  to  be  either  the  one  or  the 
other?" 

"I  think  not.  In  the  relations  between 
England  and  America  as  they  now  stand 
there  is  room  for  three  classes,  the  positive 
Englishman,  the  positive  American,  and  the 


66  GRISELDA 

transitional  person  who  forms  a  link  be- 
tween the  two.  He  is  the  Englishman  who 
lives  in  America,  or  the  American  who  lives 
in  England.  He  understands  both,  and  does 
something  at  least  to  help  each  to  under- 
stand the  other." 

At  this  moment  a  servant  appeared  bring- 
ing a  light  folding  table,  which  he  placed 
before  Lady  Glenorchie.  A  second  servant 
bore  a  large  silver  tray  on  which  were  the 
materials  for  making  tea. 

"I  can  understand  that  the  class  in  which 
you  include  yourself  must  be  useful  in  inter- 
national relations;  especially  between  coun- 
tries closely  and  yet  distantly  related  as 
England  and  America.  I  should  think,  how- 
ever, that  the  position  would  be  somewhat 
unsatisfactory  to  yourself." 

Lady  Glenorchie  busied  herself  with  the 
tea-things,  and  spoke  somewhat  absent- 
mindedly.  As  a  matter  of  fact  she  was  keep- 
ing up  the  conversation  only  out  of  courtesy 
to  her  guest.  Her  real  interest  was  bent  on 
discovering  whether  this  man  could  or  could 
not  be  useful  to  her  in  separating  her  son 
from  Griselda  Grant. 

Grayburn  himself  had  divined  from  the' 
first  moment  that  the  mother  of  his  rival 


GRISELDA  67 

must  be  his  natural  ally.  He  too  had  been 
talking  for  talking's  sake.  He  did  not  be- 
lieve that  Lady  Glenorchie  could  be  ignorant 
of  her  son's  inclination.  He  watched  for 
some  sign,  he  listened  for  some  word,  which 
might  betray  her  state  of  mind.  As  she  fin- 
ished speaking  she  turned  her  head  in  search 
of  her  son.  He  stood  beside  some  rose- 
bushes not  far  away,  talking  to  Griselda. 
The  girl  herself  was  in  the  act  of  fastening 
a  pale  pink  rose  in  the  white  lace  of  her 
dress. 

Grayburn  did  not  fail  to  note  the  delicate 
flush  which  came  into  Lady  Glenorchie 's 
cheek,  nor  the  slight  severity  of  emphasis 
with  which  she  spoke  to  her  son. 

"Nigel,  would  you  mind  calling  Phillips 
for  me?  He  has  forgotten  something.  I 
think  he  is  in  the  dining-room. ' ' 

Lomond  and  Miss  Grant  came  forward, 
he  going  towards  the  house,  she  taking  a 
chair  by  Gray  burn's  side. 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  taken  all  Mr.  Gray- 
burn's  attention, "  Lady  Glenorchie  said  to 
the  young  girl,  measuring  as  she  spoke  the 
tea  from  a  silver  caddy  into  a  spoon,  and 
from  the  spoon  into  a  Dresden  tea-pot.  "I 
am  sure  you  must  have  a  great  deal  to  say 


68  GRISELDA 

to  each  other  after  so  long  a  separa- 
tion." 

"We  have  said  a  good  deal  already,"  said 
Miss  Grant  lightly,  "haven't  we,  Mr.  Gray- 
burn?  So  much,  in  fact,  that  I  have  already 
forgotten  the  greater  part  of  it.  That  is  one 
of  the  advantages  of  an  old,  old  friendship. 
One  can  say  all  sorts  of  ridiculous  things, 
and  know  that  one  isn't  taken  at  one's  word. " 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  while 
Lady  Glenorchie  gave  an  order  to  Phillips. 
"I  was  sure  you  did  not  mean  what  you 
said  a  little  while  ago. ' ' 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  flush. 
"You  mistake  me.  I  was  speaking  of  you. 
It  is  I  who  forget.  It  was  you  who  were 
not  in  earnest." 

She  could  say  no  more  for  the  moment, 
for  just  then  a  loud,  musical  voice  called  out 
from  the  other  side  of  the  lawn,  with  a  very 
distinct  enunciation  but  a  marked  staccato 
foreign  accent. 

"Lady  Glenorchie,  you  must  let  me  paint 
you  altogether  like  that.  Yes,  at  the  little 
table  of  tea,  which  is  so  English.  Rest  like 
that,  I  pray  you,  the  cup  in  the  hand.  It  is 
perfect,  perfect.  It  must  be,  madame. 
Your  portrait  will  make  me  famous." 


GRISELDA  69 

"I  cannot  sit  for  you  to-day,  Monsieur  de 
Marignan,"  Lady  Glenorchie  said,  as  the 
artist  came  forward  to  join  the  group,  "so 
please  sit  down,  and  try  to  behave  like  an 
Englishman  having  his  tea. ' ' 

"Tea,  madame!"  cried  the  Frenchman, 
with  a  graceful  gesture  of  the  hand.  "Oh, 
what  is  tea  when  one  has  a  pose  like  that!" 

"Don't  speak  disrespectfully  of  tea,  Mon- 
sieur," said  Griselda,  as  she  took  the  cup 
which  Grayburn  passed  to  her.  "Tea  is  the 
philtre  by  which  the  east  still  maintains  its 
hold  upon  the  west.  See,  the  very  vessel 
from  which  we  drink  it  is  called  China." 

"And  Mademoiselle  has  the  wisdom  of 
east  and  west  combined,"  said  the  French- 
man, with  a  bow. 

"And  Monsieur  de  Marignan  has  that  of 
neither, ' '  cried  a  light,  silvery  voice,  as  Lady 
Phillida  Wimpole,  who  had  crossed  the  lawn 
unobserved,  took  her  place  near  Griselda. 

Grayburn  turned  on  the  new-comer  his 
keen,  quickly  judging  eyes.  She  was  not 
what  he  expected;  she  was  evidently  no 
money-hunting  dowager,  no  social  harpy. 
Slender,  just  above  the  middle  height,  with 
an  air  of  languor,  yet  exceedingly  alert,  per- 
fectly dressed,  perfectly  at  ease,  perfectly 


7o  GRISELDA 

sure  of  herself,  absolutely  simple  in  manner, 
with  that  simplicity  which  is  the  result  of 
infinite  self -correction,  Lady  Phillida  Wim- 
pole  was  henceforth  in  Grayburn's  eyes  the 
incarnation  of  all  his  ideals  of  modern 
womanhood.  Her  features  were  small  and 
regular,  her  head  was  well-poised,  her  com- 
plexion that  of  the  wild  pink  rose  when  it  is 
just  passing  the  very  perfection  of  its  beauty. 
Her  chestnut  hair  growing  low  on  the  fore- 
head waved  daintily  over  the  whitest  of 
brows.  The  eyes  were  gray — not  large  and 
soft,  but  large  and  earnest,  hard  according 
to  some,  hungry  according  to  others.  They 
were  certainly  cold  as  a  rule,  and  critical, 
but  capable  of  gleams  of  tenderness  which 
few  had  seen.  At  the  present  moment,  with 
a  parasol  that  suggested  a  shower  of  cream- 
colored  lace  shading  her  uncovered  head,  she 
looked  not  more  than  thirty,  though  her 
exact  age  was  given  in  the  Peerage.  Beside 
her,  as  Grayburn  thought,  Lady  Glenorchie, 
with  her  old-world  elegance,  looked  like  a 
fading  flower,  and  Griselda  like  one  which 
had  not  yet  bloomed.  Frank,  frivolous  and 
original,  was  the  character  Lady  Phillida 
bore  in  the  world ;  though  the  few  who  had 
penetrated  beneath  the  surface  of  her  life 


GRISELDA  71 

knew  of  saving  graces  rarely  to  be  found 
elsewhere. 

The  daughter  of  a  poor  earl,  she  had  mar- 
ried a  poor  admiral,  and  at  twenty-six  had 
become  a  poor  widow.  Poor  to  Lady  Phil- 
lida  meant  just  sufficient  for  food  and  cloth- 
ing and  the  maintenance  of  a  modest 
establishment  in  Queen's  Gate.  It  was  not 
absolute  penury,  but  it  was  not  all  her  taste 
desired;  it  was  not  even  all,  she  thought, 
that  her  needs  required.  Having  married 
for  love,  she  had  no  intention  to  remarry  for 
money,  though  she  might  have  done  so  more 
than  once.  She  preferred  to  use  her  liberty 
and  position  for  the  benefit  of  others  and 
herself. 

It  was  an  open  secret  that  the  young  and 
lovely  girls,  who  from  time  to  time  rendered 
more  attractive  than  ever  Lady  Phillida's 
small  house  in  Queen's  Gate,  were  not  there 
only  for  love  of  the  mistress  of  the  mansion. 
But  London  is  so  free,  so  tolerant,  so  ready 
to  accept  just  that  which  meets  the  eye, 
without  asking  to  know  more!  And  as  a 
matter  of  fact  Lady  Phillida's  plan  had 
worked  admirably.  At  least  one  great  house 
owed  its  chief  happiness  to  her,  and  in  more 
than  one  minor  establishment  she  held  the 


72  GRISELDA 

place  of  fairy -godmother.  There  were  those 
to  whom  she  had  given  their  chance  in  life, 
who  without  her  would  have  had  no  chance 
at  all.  To  the  young  women  under  her  pro- 
tection her  advice  was  always  prudent,  prac- 
tical, and  probably  wiser  than  any  their  own 
mothers  could  have  given.  A  marriage  of 
reason  but  of  love  was  the  aim  she  kept  before 
her  for  her  charges'  sake,  and  she  always 
reached  it.  Happiness,  not  ambition,  was  her 
goal  for  them,  and  so  far  none  had  missed  it. 

"Lady  Phillida,"  said  Marignan,  hasten- 
ing to  bring  her  a  chair,  "Lady  Phillida 
scorns  me  because  she  knows  I  am  at  her  feet. 
Had  I  more  pride  she  would  have  more  pity. ' ' 

"Phillida  Flouts  Me,"  said  Lady  Glenor- 
chie.  pouring  another  cup  of  tea,  "is  one  of 
our  prettiest  old  English  ballads.  You 
should  learn  it,  monsieur. ' ' 

"I  will,  madame,  I  will.  She  shall  hear  it 
under  her  window  in  Queen's  Gate.  Only, 
alas!  I  cannot  sing." 

"Oh,  that  doesn't  matter,  monsieur — in 
England,"  said  Griselda. 

Lady  Glenorchie  flashed  a  quick  glance 
upon  the  girl,  who  met  the  older  woman's 
gaze  quite  tranquilly. 

"Miss    Grant    doesn't    find    us    musical 


GRISELDA  73 

enough?"  Lady  Glenorchie  asked,  as  though 
she  scented  battle. 

"Not  in  England, "  said  the  girl.  "The 
true  land  of  song  is  Scotland. " 

Lady  Glenorchie  did  not  know  whether 
this  was  meant  in  sincerity  or  sarcasm. 

"It  is  the  Scotch  who  feel  that,"  she  said 
proudly. 

"Yes,"  said  Griselda,  "I  am  Scotch." 

"I  thought  that  in  America  one's  real  na- 
tionality was  lost?" 

"I  didn't  lose  mine,"  said  Griselda. 

Again  there  was  the  flash  of  glances  ex- 
changed between  the  two.  Lady  Glenorchie 
felt  vaguely  that  Griselda  was  presuming. 

"Will  you  give  me  a  cup  of  tea,  mother?" 
Lomond  asked,  coming  up  just  in  time  to 
interrupt  the  struggle  of  which  no  one  but 
himself  was  aware.  "And  here  is  Miss 
Dumbleton, "  he  continued,  as  a  tall,  stately 
girl,  blue-eyed,  blonde,  and  proudly  gentle 
in  carriage,  came  from  the  direction  of  the 
tennis  court,  accompanied  by  two  young 
men  in  flannels. 

Lomond  placed  a  chair  for  Miss  Dumble- 
ton, and  sat  down  beside*  her. 

Waynflete  and  Garth,  heated  and  flushed 
with  playing,  threw  themselves  on  the  grass. 


74  GRISELDA 

As  the  group  grew  larger  the  conversation 
became  less  general.  Lady  Glenorchie  went 
on  with  her  duties  as  hostess,  but  saying 
little.  Lomond  and  Miss  Dumbleton,  each 
with  teacup  in  hand,  were  in  quiet  conversa- 
tion a  little  apart  from  the  others.  Lady 
Phillida,  Miss  Grant,  and  Marignan,  talking 
and  laughing  a  great  deal,  were  a  group  by 
themselves.  Grayburn  sat  in  silent  enjoy- 
ment and  observation.  It  was  just  such  a 
scene  as  he  had  always  fancied  himself  com- 
ing home  to — simple,  easy,  restful,  pictur- 
esque. As  he  watched  Lady  Glenorchie's 
white  jeweled  hands  move  hither  and  thither 
among  the  silver  and  porcelain,  his  thoughts 
were  back  in  the  mining  camps  of  Nevada 
and  Colorado,  where  so  many  of  his  first 
years  of  reformation  had  been  passed.  He 
traversed  the  still  harder  years  of  feverish 
watching  at  the  wheel  of  fortune  in  the  great 
cities  of  the  west.  He  came  to  the  last  years 
of  all,  to  da)7s  spent  half  in  calculation  and 
half  in  counting  upon  chance,  to  nights  of 
broken  sleep,  to  an  almost  hourly  waiting 
upon  the  caprices  of  the  stock-exchanges  of 
Chicago  and  New'  York,  which  could  give 
him  all  or  take  all  away.  Now,  he  reflected 
with  satisfaction,  that  life  was  over.  It  had 


GRISELDA 


75 


given  him  excitement,  but  no  joy.  One 
more  struggle,  and  then  his  whole  desire 
would  be  gratified. 

As  he  idly  watched  the  silent  servants 
come  and  go,  as  he  heard  without  heeding 
the  laughter  and  conversation  round  him,  as 
his  eye  wandered  over  the  rich,  well-ordered 
landscape  of  garden  and  park,  "All  this," 
he  said,  "shall  be  mine." 


VI 


The  sunlight  slanted  more  and  more  across 
the  glade  of  pines.  The  little  group  broke 
up.  Miss  Dumbleton  and  Lady  Phillida  went 
away  arm  in  arm,  followed  by  Garth  and 
Waynflete.  Lomond  and  Marignan  were  in 
the  billiard-room.  Miss  Grant  withdrew  to 
her  own  apartment.  Only  Lady  Glenorchie 
and  Grayburn  were  left  in  the  shady  corner 
of  the  lawn. 

Each  had  waited  for  this  opportunity  of 
quiet  talk.  Each  had  begun  to  feel  confi- 
dent of  the  other. 

"You  will  come  back  and  dine  with  us,  I 
hope,"  Lady  Glenorchie  said,  when  they 
were  quite  alone. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Grayburn,  taking  a 
chair  nearer  hers.  "I  should  like  to  do  so, 
if  it  is  not  too  great  a  tax  upon  your  kind- 
ness." 

"Do  so,  please,"  said  Lady  Glenorchie, 
taking  up  from  the  table  by  her  side  the  work 
she  had  laid  down  before  tea.  "We  dine 
76 


GRISELDA  77 

at  eight.  My  son  will  be  glad  to  see  you, 
and  of  course  you  want  to  be  as  much  as 
possible  with  your  friend. ' ' 

"My  ward,"  Grayburn  corrected.  "I 
have  been  Miss  Grant's  guardian  since  her 
infancy. ' ' 

"I  fancied  she  was  an  orphan,  though  I 
didn't  know." 

"I  think  you  had  not  met  her  before  she 
came  down  here. ' ' 

"No.  Miss  Grant  is  with  us  as  Lady 
Phillida  Wimpole's  friend." 

' '  It  has  been  a  great  advantage  to  her  to 
have  had  Lady  Phillida's  protection.  I 
doubted  it  at  first,  but  I  can  understand  it 
now. ' ' 

"Since  you  have  seen  Lady  Phillida  her- 
self.  Yes,  she  is  a  beautiful  woman,  and  one  of 
my  dearest  friends.  I  should  have  doubted, 
however,  if  the  life  she  leads  would  have 
been  exactly  that  in  which  you  would  have 
had  your  ward  presented." 

"It  is  not, "said  Grayburn  frankly.  "Miss 
Grant  acted  in  the  matter  without  my  ad- 
vice. But  the  thing  being  done,  I  can  see 
that  it  is  not  all  wrong.  I  have  wanted  my 
ward  to  have  all  possible  social  advantages." 

"One  can  see  that  she  has  had  them.     It 


78  GRISELDA 

must  have  been  a  difficult  task  for  a  man. 
But  perhaps  you  are  married?" 
"No;  I  am  not  married." 
"Then  your  ward  has  been  indeed  fortu- 
nate in  falling  into  such  excellent  hands. 
Nothing    could   be   more  perfect   than  her 
general    style   and  bearing.       Monsieur   de 
Marignan  assures  us,   too,  that  she  speaks 
French  like  a  Frenchwoman.     She  certainly 
dresses  like  one." 

"You  like  her,  then?" 
The  suddenness  of  the  inquiry  startled 
Lady  Glenorchie,  whose  intention  was  to 
ask  questions  rather  than  to  answer  them. 
Her  diplomatic  usage  was  to  cover  hesitation 
with  an  increased  kindliness. 

"Your  directness  frightens  me,"  she  said, 
with  a  smile. 

"I  have  never  found  that  uncertainty  of 
aim  helped  me  to  hit  the  mark." 

"You  prefer  to  go  straight  to  the  point." 
"When  there  is  one  I  want  to  reach." 
"Which  is  the  case  here?" 
"Which  is  the  case  in  general." 
"But  here  in  particular,  I  think." 
"You,  too,  are  direct,  Lady  Glenorchie." 
"I  can  see  you  are  a  frank  man;  I  suppose 
I  am  a  frank  woman. " 


GRISELDA  79 

"Mine  is  the  brutal  directness  which  must 
fight  to  win ;  yours  the  open  serenity  which 
has  never  feared  to  lose." 

"Mine,"  said  Lady  Glenorchie,  less  to  her 
hearer  than  to  her  own  protesting  con- 
science ;  ' '  Mine  is  only  the  straight-forward 
intention  to  do  my  duty." 

"And  mine,"  said  Gray  burn,  reckless  of 
conscience  and  hearer  alike;  "Mine  is  only 
the  outspoken  determination  to  succeed." 

"There  have  always  been  many  roads  to 
Rome." 

"And  equally  good  as  long  as  they  lead  to 
the  Golden  Milestone  in  the  Forum." 

"I  do  not  admit  that.  I  say  only  that 
people  may  be  guided  by  wholly  different 
motives  and  yet  reach  the  same  spot." 

"Which  means  that  you  and  I  could 
talk  together  on  a  certain  subject  without 
fear  of  giving  or  taking  offence.  Am  I 
right?" 

"Quite  so,"  said  Lady  Glenorchie,  letting 
her  work  fall  into  her  lap,  and  looking  him 
straight  in  the  eyes.  "You  and  I  are  stran- 
gers to  each  other,  but  we  have  met  at  a  point 
where  our  interests  touch.  You  as  the  guard- 
ian of  your  ward,  and  I  as  the  mother  of 
my  son,  must  have  matters  to  discuss 


8o  GRISELDA 

together.  Miss  Grant  has  perhaps  al- 
ready  " 

"Yes;  she  has  told  me  that  your  son 
wants  to  marry  her." 

This  was  more  than  Lady  Glenorchie 
knew,  but  she  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 
avow  the  fact. 

"And  you,  as  a  Grayburn  and  a  man  of 
the  world,  can  understand  that  I " 

"Perfectly — from  your  point  of  view.  But 
I  must  tell  you  from  the  outset  that  it  is  not 
mine. ' ' 

"Then,  I  fear,  my  cause  is  in  danger  of 
being  lost. ' ' 

"Not  necessarily.  If  I  cannot  fight  with 
you  I  am  not  obliged  to  fight  against  you." 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  understand." 

"I  mean  that  it  is  rare  to  find  two  persons 
who  are  wholly  agreed.  Husband  and  wife, 
however  happily  living  together,  often  have 
quite  different  aims.  In  this  case  there  are 
four  of  us,  and  each  has  his  or  her  own  motive 
and  point  of  view.  No  two  of  us  are  work- 
ing quite  together.  Your  son  is  going  his 
way,  my  ward  is  going  hers;  you  are  going 
your  way  and  I  am  going  mine.  I  repeat 
that  I  cannot  fight  with  you;  but  I  might 
help  you  to  powder  and  shot." 


GRISELDA  81 

"You  mystify  me,"  said  Lady  Glenorchie, 
helplessly,  "and  mystery  is  precisely  what 
I  want  to  avoid.  There  is  so  much  of  it 
about  Miss  Grant.  Can  you  not  at  least  tell 
me  who  she  is?  Even  that  would  be  a  help 
to  me.  I  have  tried  to  question  her  courte- 
ously, but  her  answers  are  either  vague  or 
evasive." 

"I  can  tell  you  many  things,  Lady  Glen- 
orchie. But  I  have  already  given  you  to 
understand  that  your  objects  are  not  mine. 
If  you  choose  to  ask  me  questions  I  will 
answer  them ;  and  yet  I  tell  you  in  advance 
that  I  will  do  so  in  a  way  to  suit  my  own 
purposes  not  to  further  yours. ' ' 

Lady  Glenorchie  was  silent  for  a  moment. 
She  did  not  like  the  situation  into  which  she 
was  being  drawn.  She  had  a  high  sense  of 
honor,  and  she  feared  that  her  present  action 
might  not  be  honorable. 

"And  yet,"  she  said  to  herself.  "I  must 
save  my  son.  I  don't  blame  him  for  loving 
her;  there  is  in  her  much  to  love.  But  he 
cannot  marry  her.  I  must  keep  him  from 
that  even  if  my  conscience  reproves  the 
means — but  my  conscience  does  not  reprove 
me,"  she  protested  proudly.  "I  am  doing 
right.  I  am  acting  wisely  towards  them  both. " 


82  GRISELDA 

"Then  who  is  this  lady?"  she  asked 
aloud,  with  the  emphasis  of  exasperation. 

Grayburn  moved  his  chair  a  little  nearer 
hers  and  spoke  in  a  lower  voice. 

"It  will  hardly  surprise  you,"  he  said,  "to 
learn  that  she  has  been  commonly  called  my 
own  illegitimate  daughter." 

The  effect  of  these  words  on  Lady  Glenor- 
chie  was  that  which  Graybum  had  hoped  to 
produce. 

Her  color  rose,  not  to  a  blush,  but  to  a 
pale  point  of  pink  on  each  delicate  white 
cheek.  Her  eyes  flashed  and  her  lips  trem- 
bled. 

"And  this  person  has  been  permitted " 

she  began,  in  indignation. 

"I  was  going  on  to  tell  you,"  said  Gray- 
burn,  calmly,  "that  the  report  was  ridicu- 
lously untrue.  Had  it  not  been  so  absurd  I 
should  not  have  mentioned  it  to  your  lady- 
ship. " 

"Then,  may  I  ask  who  her  father 
was?" 

"A  Scotchman.     A  man  of  good  family." 

"Oh,"  said  Lady  Glenorchie,  with  deep- 
ened interest.  "There  are  the  Grants  of 
Grantown.  It  could  not  have  been " 

"No,"  GraybUrn  said,  speaking  very  dis- 


GRISELDA  83 

tinctly  and  significantly.  "My  ward  has 
never  borne  her  father's  name." 

"Her  mother's,  then?" 

"Her  mother's." 

"Which  means  that  after  all " 

"Your  ladyship  must  guess  the  rest." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  during  which 
the  pink  spot  on  Lady  Glenorchie's  cheek 
burned  into  red.  She  was  but  slowly  seizing 
the  significance  of  Gray  burn's  words.  Never 
had  anything  so  much  like  shame  been 
brought  so  near  her. 

"And  the  mother?"  she  asked,  breaking 
the  long  pause.  "Who  was  she?" 

"A  maidservant  in  a  village  inn.  Her 
name,  too,  was  Griselda  Grant. ' ' 

"And  the  father  is ?" 

"Dead.     He  was  hanged  in  America. " 

The  spot  of  color  in  Lady  Glenorchie's 
cheek  went  out  like  an  extinguished  light. 
She  grew  very  pale. 

"O  my  God,"  she  murmured,  so  low  that 
Gray  burn  did  not  hear  her,  "this  is  too 
much !  My  son  shall  never  come  to  it. " 

"But  her  wealth?"  she  asked  aloud,  mak- 
ing a  strong  effort  after  self-control.  "She 
is  rich.  Where  do  her  means  come 
from?" 


84  GRISELDA 

"She  herself  best  knows  that,"  said  Gray- 
burn,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

Lady  Glenorchie  rose. 

"Tell  me  no  more." 

"I  have  told  you  very  little  of  all  there  is 
to  tell, ' '  said  Grayburn,  rising-  also. 

"And  yet  too  much." 

To  calm  her  agitation  Lady  Glenorchie 
began  to  walk.  Grayburn  paced  beside  her. 

"There  are  other  circumstances "  he 

began. 

"None  that  I  wish  to  know." 

"And  yet  some  day  you  may  think  that  I 
have  deceived  you.  You  may  judge  me 
harshly ' ' 

"I  shall  never  judge  you  at  all.  When  I 
have  saved  my  son " 

"You  will  fling  the  instrument  away." 

"I  shall  always  be  grateful  to  you.  What- 
ever your  motives  may  be  you  have  done  more 
for  me  and  my  house  than  I  can  ever  thank 
you  for." 

"Don't  thank  me.  I  have  been  working 
not  for  you  but  for  myself. ' ' 

"If  your  object  has  been  to  prevent  a 
marriage  between  your  ward  and  my  son,  be 
sure  that  you  have  succeeded.  To-morrow 
he  shall  know  all  that  I  know. ' ' 


GRISELDA  85 

"And  you  think  that  he " 

"I  do  not  think— I  know." 

"That  he  would  give  her  up?" 

"That  he  would  break  his  heart — that  he 
would  break  mine  and  hers,  before  he  would 
bring  a  stain  upon  his  family's  honor." 

"Then  you  believe  that  the  family's  honor 
would  be  dearer  to  him  than  his  own?" 

Lady  Glenorchie  winced,  but  held  her 
ground. 

"We  will  let  that  pass,"  she  said,  haugh- 
tily. "You  will  pardon  me  if  I  say  that  this 
is  something  which  you  cannot  understand. 
You  are  not  the  head  of  a  great  house ' ' 

"I  mean  to  be." 

"You  have  no  sacred  traditions  to  treas- 
ure and  transmit." 

"I  shall  create  them." 

"In  any  case,"  she  went  on,  ignoring  his 
remarks,  "I  beg  you  to  believe  that  my 
son's  personal  honor  is  safe  with  him.  He 
may  suffer ;  your  ward  may  suffer  too ' ' 

"But  better  that  they  should  do  so  than 
either  you  or  I. " 

"I  do  not  know  whether  that  is  meant  for 
cynicism  or  cruelty. ' ' 

"For  neither.  It  is  one's  natural  attitude 
to  wards  life." 


86  GRISELDA 

"It  is  not  mine,"  she  protested,  as  she 
turned  at  the  end  of  the  lawn. 

"That  means  only  that  your  ladyship  is 
the  exception  to  the  rule." 

"I  want  my  son  to  be  happy,  and  I  wish 
no  ill  to  Miss  Grant.  Their  own  interests 
can  be  served  best  in  keeping  them  apart." 

"Towards  that  I  shall  do  my  utmost.  To- 
morrow my  ward  returns  with  me  to  London. " 

"After  what  we  have  said  it  would  be 
insincerity  on  my  part  to  beg  her  to  remain. ' ' 

"Hereafter  she  shall  be  under  no  protec- 
tion but  my  own." 

"It  is  needless  to  say  that  I  think  you  are 
wise." 

"In  the  meantime  it  is  best,  perhaps,  that 
no  abrupt  measures  should  be  taken. ' ' 

"There  I  entirely  agree  with  you.  My 
son  is  of  an  ardent,  not  to  say  romantic, 
nature.  He  has  much  of  the  old  Scotch 
impulsiveness.  He  must  be  dealt  with 
gently.  If  he  thought  we  meant  to  cross 
him  I  should  not  answer  for  the  conse- 
quences. He  would  dare  anything  for  the 
moment,  even  though  he  were  to  regret  it 
afterwards. ' ' 

ifhe  paused  near  one  of  the  entries  to  the 
house. 


GRISELDA  87 

"Then,"  said  Grayburn,  "with  your  per- 
mission I  shall  come  to  dinner,  and  my  ward 
will  stay  to-night.  Her  going  away  to-mor- 
row will  then  take  place  in  a  manner  to  cause 
no  remark." 

"And  when  she  has  gone  I  shall  tell  my 
son  what  I  have  learned  from  you.  I  shall 
treat  it  as  a  confidence  towards  every  one 
else,  but  I  must  let  him  know." 

"I  am  sure  I  can  trust  to  your  ladyship's 
discretion. ' ' 

"And  I  to  yours." 

"And  you  to  mine." 

"We  shall  see  you,  then,  this  evening," 
she  said,  in  the  tone  of  a  royal  person  bring- 
ing an  interview  to  an  end. 

"It  will  give  me  great  pleasure,"  he  said, 
with  a  bow. 

Lady  Glenorchie  acknowledged  the  salute 
with  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head. 

Grayburn  looked  after  the  fragile,  queenly 
woman  as  she  went  up  the  steps  and  entered 
the  house. 

"Your  ladyship,  too,"  he  said  to  himself, 
with  a  little  silent  laugh,  "would  try  her 
hand  at  the  game  of  life.  But  only  the 
experienced  player  wins." 

Lady    Glenorchie    passed     through     the 


88  GRISELDA 

library  into  the  great  hall,  and  then  up  the 
white  marble  stairway.  She  carried  her- 
self like  Catherine  of  Arragon  sweeping 
out  of  the  court  against  whose  jurisdiction 
she  protested.  For  Lady  Glenorchie  was 
being  tried  by  a  judge  who  had  taken  the 
side  against  her.  She  already  knew  herself 
accused. 

"Better  that  they  should  suffer  than  you 
or  I!  Is  that  your  argument?"  demanded 
sternly  the  Voice  which  haled  her  before 
its  own  tribunal. 

"I  never  said  so,"  she  made  silent  answer. 
"It  was  he.  I  do  not  flee  from  suffering; 
I  shrink  only  from  dishonor." 

"  You  talk  of  dishonor,"  pursued  the 
inexorable  Voice.  "Is  it  no  dishonor  to 
plot ?" 

"I  have  not  plotted,"  she  asserted  wildly. 
"It  is  false.  I  could  not  so  demean  my- 
self." 

"To  plot,"  the  Voice  went  on,  "the  ruin 
of  a  young  girl's  name,  and  her  degrada- 
tion in  the  eyes  of  the  man  who  loves  her. ' ' 

"He  is  my  son.     I  must  save  him. " 

"You  are  doing  wrong.  You  are  doing 
wrong.  You  are  doing  wrong. " 

"No,  no,  no.     It  is  right.     I  will  do  it.     I 


GRISELDA  89 

am  his  mother.     I  must  know.     I  will  do  it. 
I  will  do  it." 

"You  are  doing  wrong.  You  are  doing 
wrong.  You  are  doing  wrong,"  the  Voice 
continued,  like  the  tolling  of  a  bell,  the 
sound  of  which  grew  fainter  and  fainter  as 
Lady  Glenorchie  muffled  her  ears  and  fled. 


VII 

The  billiard-room  at  Lomond  Lodge  was  a 
large,  square  hall,  used  as  the  entrance  to 
the  northern  portion  of  the  house.  In  the 
centre  was  the  green-covered  table,  while 
along  the  walls  were  divans  and  arm-chairs. 
The  walls  themselves  were  adorned  with 
antique  arms  symmetrically  arranged.  The 
effect  was  somewhat  gloomy,  the  room  being 
lighted  only  from  the  northern  embrasure, 
where  there  was  one  large  window  of  Tudor 
Gothic  style.  The  arms  of  the  family  of 
Tulloch  emblazoned  in  the  upper  panes  gave 
a  touch  of  gorgeous  color  to  an  apartment 
which  would  otherwise  have  been  sombre. 

In  the  embrasure  was  a  soft  and  tempting 
window-seat,  where  Lomond  and  Marignan, 
lounging  together,  were  idly  watching  the 
setting  sun  touch  with  its  horizontal  rays 
the  distant  trees  of  Windsor  Forest.  They 
had  put  away  their  cues,  and  had  begun  to 
smoke. 

Paul  de  Marignan  was  the  man  whom  Lo- 
mond loved  and  respected  more  than  any 
90 


GRISELDA  9x 

other.  Nowhere  could  Marignan  have  been 
taken  for  anything  but  a  Frenchman.  His 
regular  features,  his  soft  brown  eyes,  his 
black,  pointed  beard,  his  carefully  curved 
moustache,  were  all  as  foreign  as  his  vivac- 
ity, and  as  his  accent  in  speaking  English. 
Of  unusual  height,  of  gigantic  strength,  he 
was  also  strikingly  handsome.  He  was  con- 
scious of  this,  and  yet  was  not  vain. 

Always  successful,  he  had  one  of  those 
natures  which  success  does  not  spoil.  From 
the  day  when  he  had  won  the  Prix  de  Rome 
he  had  never  known  anything  of  the  hard- 
ships of  struggle,  or  of  the  bitterness 
of  failure.  He  had  gained  his  triumphs 
easily;  and  perhaps  for  that  very  reason  had 
never  lost  the  simplicity  of  character  and  the 
sweetness  of  temper  which  had  come  with 
him  into  the  world.  Affectionate,  and  not 
afraid  of  seeming  so,  he  won  affection  in  re- 
turn. An  enthusiastic  admirer  of  the  art  of 
others,  he  disarmed  jealously  towards  his 
own.  Always  in  sympathy  with  youth, 
always  open  to  suggestion,  he  retained  at 
five  and  forty  the  buoyancy  of  twenty-five. 

Marignan 's  fame  as  a  portrait  painter  had 
been  steadily  growing  during  the  last  ten 
years.  In  a  certain  combination  of  realism 


92 


GRISELDA 


with  idealism  he  now  stood  without  a 
rival  in  Europe.  To  this  success  his  own 
native  goodness  contributed  more,  perhaps, 
than  his  technique  or  his  eye  for  color 
and  pose.  He  was  a  painter  of  charac- 
ter; he  made  his  subjects  live;  they  not 
only  appealed  to  the  eye,  but  they  haunted 
the  memory.  In  the  face  that  looked 
out  from  one  of  Marignan's  canvases  the 
spectator  felt  there  was  a  soul ;  in  that  soul 
he  saw  noble  possibilities. 

"Can  that  be  the  frivolous,  reckless, 
worldly  Madame  de  Bresle?"had  been  asked 
at  the  Salon,  "that  woman  whose  mouth  is 
all  intensity,  and  whose  eyes  are  the  expres- 
sion of  exalted  aspiration?" 

It  was  because  Marignan  had  set  forth 
his  subject's  character  not  wholly  as  it  was, 
but  as  it  was  struggling  to  be ;  not  as  it  was 
seen  by  the  world,  but  as  it  was  known  to 
him.  Here  was  the  secret  of  his  power. 
He  believed  in  men  and  women;  he  took 
them  at  their  best  and  gave  them  in  like 
manner.  The  foolish  woman  was  set  forth 
in  her  affection,  the  swaggering  youth  in  his 
courage,  the  cynical  old  man  in  his  hidden, 
unsuspected  kindliness.  It  was  not  flattery; 
it  was  truth — truth  which  often  surprised, 


itw: 
It  is  not  myself,  its  what  I 


At  that  tin 

•fiv^fr  exirihifrMK  ni   T^vuVtn       Tfijt  IJMI^ 

loved  after.    His 

daring,  glaring,  nor  gritty  of  Tic 

ing  to  catch  the  eye,  appealed  to 


at   once  in   tl^>  long  procession  of  noble 

£:i:^.i:i   i~i    ii^ie;   — .11  ~i  ;i  7.:  in    Vi- 
Dyke,    Reynolds,  and 


Lady  Glenorchie, 
had  niAfir  a  ,s|irc  til  journey  to  lowti  to  see 
the  collection.  She  then  begged  Marignan 
to  paint  her  son  in  Highland  dress.  The 

'io  ~.—  z   .y:e-;zici  c-rnri::    ••-  ;.~  :jir 


94 


GRISELDA 


Parisians  called  "Le  bel  Ecossais,"  the  most 
impressive  picture  in  the  Salon  of  the  fol- 
lowing year. 

After  a  first  disappointment  Lady  Glenor- 
chie  had  come  to  love  this  portrait  above 
everything  else  that  she  possessed.  It  had 
been  meant  for  Glenorchie  Castle,  but  she 
had  kept  it  near  her  at  Rusthall  Court,  and 
had  recently  removed  it  to  Lomond  Lodge. 
Here,  from  its  position  at  the  branching  of 
the  white  marble  staircase  in  the  great  hall, 
it  seemed  to  preside  over  the  ten  genera- 
tions of  the  house  of  Tulloch,  whose  repre- 
sentatives, beginning  with  Kenneth,  Earl  of 
Lomond,  painted  by  Holbein,  lined  the 
walls. 

It  is  true  that  her  son's  portrait  was  not 
what  Lady  Glenorchie  had  expected.  She 
had  had  in  mind  a  vision  of  a  proud  Highland 
chief,  a  mingling  of  Ossian,  Prince  Charlie, 
and  Rob  Roy.  Lomond,  on  the  other  hand, 
had  pictured  himself  with  the  air  of  a  young 
Scotch  Londoner,  at  a  Royal  Caledonian 
ball.  At  first  neither  he  nor  his  mother 
was  quite  satisfied,  though  they  both  came 
to  see  their  mistake. 

"Le  bel  Ecossais"  was  a  tall,  firmly-built 
young  man  crossing  an  upland  moor,  the 


GRISELDA  95 

heather  of  which  formed  the  reddish  purple 
background.  A  collie  lay  panting  at  his 
master's  feet,  and  another  bounded  after  a 
bird.  The  young  laird's  pose  was  absolutely 
simple;  he  had  paused  in  his  walk,  and, 
leaning  on  the  stout  stick  he  carried,  was 
looking  towards  the  spectator.  The  narrow 
turrets  of  Glenorchie  Castle  were  just  visible 
in  the  distance.  Lomond  had  pleaded  for  a 
gun  as  a  detail  to  go  with  the  bird  and  the 
dog,  but  Marignan  had  been  inexorable. 

"It  would  make  my  portrait,"  he  said, 
"like  any  of  the  grouse-shooting,  deer-stalk- 
ing pictures,  of  which  you  have  so  many  in 
your  Royal  Academy.  Here  you  are  the 
Scotch  lord  of  the  times  of  peace,  walking 
over  his  own  lands,  breathing  the  air  of  the 
mountains,  and  crushing  the  heather  all  the 
Scotchmen  love.  I  give  you  no  gun ;  I  give 
you  no  wild  servants  with  sandwiches  and 
whisky.  I  paint  you  as  I  know  you  to  be. 
Every  one  who  sees  you  will  say,  'This  is 
Nigel  Graham.  This  is  his  self  and 
soul.'  " 

And  every  one  who  saw  this  portrait  said 
so.  Instinctively  the  eye  turned  away  from 
the  marvelously  painted  details — from  the 
upland  landscape,  from  the  dog  panting  in 


96  GRISELDA 

the  heather,  from  the  picturesque  Highland 
costume — and  fixed  itself  on  the  face  which 
turned  its  gaze  toward  you.  It  was  more 
than  the  Lomond  you  knew ;  it  was  the  Lom- 
ond you  divined.  It  was  more  than  a 
handsome,  blue-eyed,  blond  young  man;  it 
was  a  strong,  modest,  loyal  nature.  It  was 
a  face  to  honor,  admire,  and  love.  One  felt 
in  it  the  presence  not  of  a  great  intellect, 
but  of  a  great  heart.  The  features  were  not 
without  their  touch  of  pride,  but  a  pride 
tempered  with  tenderness.  The  forehead, 
under  the  jauntily-set  Scotch  bonnet,  was 
broad  and  white,  and  the  fair  hair  showed 
about  the  temples ;  the  blue  eyes  were  grave ; 
the  nostrils  sensitive  and  finely  cut;  the 
mouth,  beneath  the  long,  fair  moustache, 
was  firm;  the  chin  strong,  and  dented  by  a 
slightly  showing  dimple.  It  was  the  face 
of  a  good  fighter,  but  a  faithful  friend.  It 
might  lack  originality ;  but  it  was  wanting 
in  nothing  that  belongs  to  courage  and  up- 
rightness, honor  and  love.  The  brush  of 
the  artist  showed  at  a  glance  what  could 
only  have  been  learned  otherwise  in  years 
of  friendship. 

First,  in  the  painting  of  this  picture,  after- 
wards in  visits  made  by  Lomond  to  Paris, 


GRISELDA  97 

and  seasons  spent  by  Marignan  in  England, 
the  acquaintance  between  the  two  men  gave 
place  to  intimacy.  Now,  in  spite  of  the  fif- 
teen years  of  difference  in  age,  there  was 
little  that  concerned  the  one  into  which  the 
other  did  not  enter.  On  Marignan 's  part 
this  regard  was  deeper  than  Lomond  was 
aware  of;  it  was  more  than  friendship;  it 
was  a  deeply-rooted  affection.  Among  the 
painter's  most  sacred  possessions,  which  he 
carried  with  him  everywhere,  was  a  simple 
photograph  of  "Le  bel  Ecossais, "  under 
which  was  written  the  line  from  the  Vul- 
gate, Intuitus  eum,  dilexit  eum  —  words 
which  had  often  floated  through  Marignan's 
memory  in  the  days  when  the  young  man 
had  sat  hour  after  hour  before  him,  and  the 
portrait  had  taken  form. 

During  the  present  visit  to  Lomond  Lodge, 
Marignan  had  not  been  blind  to  the  silent 
drama  which  was  being  played  beneath  his 
eyes.  He  was  too  close  an  observer  not  to 
have  remarked  the  position  in  which  Lom- 
ond, his  mother,  and  Griselda  stood  towards 
each  other. 

"I  know  what  is  the  matter,"  he  said  sud- 
denly, after  a  long  silence,  as  the  two  sat 
smoking  in  the  large  embrasure. 


98  GRISELDA 

"With  whom?"  Lomond  asked,  turning  to 
look  his  friend  in  the  face. 

"With  you,"  Marignan  answered.  "With 
you  and  Madame  de  Glenorchie  and — and 
some  one  else." 

"Perhaps  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Lom- 
ond, who  wished  to  speak  frankly,  but 
dreaded  making  confidences. 

"But  I  do,"  said  Marignan,  putting  down 
his  cigarette,  and  laying  his  hand  lightly 
on  Lomond's  knee.  "I  do  understand.  I 
see.  I  know." 

"You  know  what?" 

"That  you  have  come  to  the  point  which 
a  man  reaches  only  once  in  his  lifetime.  Do 
not  be  angry,  mon  petit.  Let  me  give  you 
my  counsels  as  I  would  take  yours." 

"Paries,  mon  ami,"  said  Lomond,  gently, 
speaking  in  French  in  order  to  use  the  famil- 
iar and  affectionate  tu.  "Dis-moi  tout  ce 
que  tu  veux. ' ' 

"I  will,"  said  Marignan.  "It  is  the  part 
of  a  friend  that  I  play.  I  see  you  hesitate; 
I  see  you  suffer ;  I  see  others  suffer.  I  must 
speak.  For  the  first  time  you  love.  Is  it 
not  true?" 

Lomond  drew  a  hard  breath. 

"  Yes, "  he  said,  in  a  voice  scarcely  audible. 


GRISELDA  99 

"And  she  loves  you." 

"I  don't  know." 

"I  know.  I  have  seen  that  too.  Many 
times  I  have  wished  to  paint  her  with  that 
expression  in  her  face.  Oh,  she  did  not 
know  that  I  regarded  her.  But  I  am  like  a 
robber;  I  steal  the  secrets  that  one  would 
keep  hidden  from  all  the  world.  My  eye  is 
habituated  to  observe,  and  I  am  sure  the  day 
has  come  for  you  both.  Madame  de  Glen- 
orchie,  she  knows  it  too." 

There  was  another  pause. 

"What  then?"  Lomond  asked.  "What 
are  your  counsels. ' ' 

' '  Perhaps  I  was  wrong  to  speak  of  coun- 
sels," Marignan  went  on.  "Perhaps  I  have 
none  to  give.  I  know  but  one  thing.  I 
will  tell  it  you.  The  best  thing  in  life  is 
love.  It  is  more  than  the  best,  it  is  the  most 
essential.  It  is  to  life  what  health  is  to  the 
body,  what  beauty  is  to  art,  what  the  voice 
is  to  song.  There  are  many  kinds  of  love, 
and  there  are  many  kinds  of  people.  Some 
content  themselves  with  one  kind,  and  some 
with  another.  Some  can  love  many  times, 
and  some  but  once.  And  you  are  like  the 
last ;  and  she  is  like  the  last.  I  study  faces ; 
I  study  souls.  I  see  that  in  you  both. 


ioo  GRISELDA 

"What  would  you  do,  then?"  Lomond 
asked. 

"I  would  seize  quickly  the  one  chance  life 
means  to  offer  me,  before  it  is  taken  back. 
You  are  not  a  boy  to  love  a  few  days,  and 
then  to  change.  You  know  you  will  never 
change.  She  too  will  never  change.  It  is 
the  fatal  moment  for  each  of  you.  I  see. 
I  know.  Why  should  you  be  unhappy,  when 
life  holds  for  you  such  joy?" 

"But  my  mother?  She  would  never  con- 
sent. It  would  kill  her. " 

"Some  one  must  suffer.  It  is  better  that 
it  should  be  one  person  and  not  three. ' ' 

"But  I  owe  her  so  much." 

"Less  in  this  matter  than  she  owes  you. 
Besides,  nothing  can  prevent  her  suffering. 
When  she  sees  that  you  have  renounced 
your  love  for  her,  can  she  be  happy?  No, 
mon  petit,  never.  It  is  not  in  a  mother  to 
build  her  happiness  on  her  son's  lifelong 
sorrow.  In  the  end  it  will  cost  her  less  to 
accept  your  decision  than  to  make  you  bow 
to  hers." 

"I  wish  I  could  think  so.  But  if  she 
should  refuse  to  build  her  happiness  on  my 
suffering,  why  should  I  build  mine  on  hers?" 

"Listen  to  what  I  will  tell  you.     You  will 


GRISELDA  101 

see  that  when  a  man  misses  his  one  chance 
of  love  it  never  comes  again.  There  is  a 
little  story  in  my  life.  No  one  knows  it  now 
but  me.  To  no  one  would  I  tell  it  but  to 
you.  You  have  heard  of  the  Vicomtesse  de 
Pre"gny?  Yes,  the  original  of  the  beautiful 
portrait  in  the  Luxembourg.  That  picture 
keeps  her  name  alive,  but  she  herself  is  for- 
gotten. I  alone  remember.  I  will  never 
forget. ' ' 

There  was  a  pause.  Marignan,  turning 
away,  looked  for  a  few  moments  towards 
the  distant  forest 

"The  Vicomtesse  de  Pre*gny,"  he  went  on 
at  last,  "was  Jeanne  de  la  Ke*rouaille,  of  a 
great  family  in  Brittany.  She  had  but  lately 
left  the  convent  when  a  marriage  was  ar- 
ranged for  her  with  my  best  friend,  Henri 
de  Pre"gny.  Henri  and  I  had  been  like  broth- 
ers, and  so  the  Marquise  de  la  Ke"rouaille 
invited  me  to  pass  some  days  with  him  at 
the  Breton  chateau.  It  was  but  a  month 
before  the  marriage.  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Ke*rouaille  had  seen  Henri  but  a  few  times. 
She  did  not  know  him.  She  did  not  love 
him.  She  was  twenty ;  I  was  twenty-eight. 
You  know  what  I  mean  to  tell  you?" 

"I  can  guess,"  said  Lomond. 


io2  GRISELDA 

"It  came  quickly — love.  I  was  but  a  few 
days  there  when  we  understood — each  of  us. 
I  need  not  say  she  was  beautiful.  You 
have  seen  her  portrait.  Yes,  she  was  calm 
like  that ;  even  as  a  young  girl  she  had  that 
noble  air,  that  something  pure  and  exalted 
which  few  women  have.  We  were  never 
alone  together — not  then.  It  is  not  possible 
in  France.  It  is  not  as  it  is  in  England. 
We  talked  only  before  all  the  world,  but  we 
spoke  frankly  and'  heart  to  heart.  We 
agreed  that  she  must  go  on,  that  she  must 
marry  Henri  and  obey  her  parents.  Noth- 
ing else  seemed  possible.  We  thought  it  our 
duty  to  renounce  each  other,  to  suffer  rather 
than  make  others  suffer.  And  it  was  all  so 
useless!  We  learned  that  when  it  was  too 
late.  We  saved  nobody,  and  we  destroyed 
ourselves." 

Marignan  spoke  rapidly,  almost  passion- 
ately, with  gestures  of  pleading  and  persua- 
sion. He  was  not  making  a  confidence,  he 
was  only  citing  an  example. 

"After  the  marriage  they  came  to  live  in 
Paris — naturally.  We  could  not  but  meet. 
We  met  often,  always.  At  first  we  tried  to 
ignore  what  we  had  said  in  Brittany,  to  for- 
get, to  be  friends  and  no  more.  But  it  was 


GRISELDA  103 

not  possible.  You  understand  that.  Two 
years  went  by,  years  of  martyrdom  on  both 
sides.  I  left  Paris  twice,  but  I  could  not 
stay  away.  The  worst  was  that  we  had 
spoiled  our  lives  for  nothing.  Henri  was 
proud  of  her;  he  did  not  love  her — no, 
never.  He  did  not  care  that  she  had  no 
love  for  him.  We  made  a  mistake  from  the 
beginning.  Had  she  refused  to  marry  him 
there  would  have  been  trouble,  but  it  would 
have  passed.  Her  parents  would  have  been 
angry,  and  Henri  wounded  in  his  pride ;  no 
more  than  that.  But  now  there  was  no 
escape,  no  refuge,  no  hope.  At  last  it  could 
not  be  longer  borne.  She  left  Paris;  she 
went  to  Pre"gny,  not  to  return.  I  never  saw 
her  any  more." 

"And  now?"  Lomond  asked,  softly. 

"She  is  dead.  Five  years  ago  she  was  a 
widow.  I  wrote,  praying  her  to  let  me  come 
to  her.  But  it  was  always  too  late.  She 
was  already  suffering  from  her  last  malady. 
They  told  me  she  had  much  changed,  that 
she  had  lost  all  her  beauty.  She  would  not 
that  I  who  had  known  her  as  you  see  her  in 
the  Luxembourg  should  see  her  as  she  was. 
And  so  she  died.  It  was  too  late.  But  it 
was  my  one  time  in  life,  my  only  time.  It 


io4  GRISELDA 

was  a  great  mistake ;  but  when  I  would  not 
seize  the  golden  cup  it  passed  me  by.  Since 
then  all  women  to  me  are  the  same.  I  love 
none.  I  have  no  more  love.  It  is  all  given. 
I  have  had  a  good  life.  I  have  gained  much 
success,  and  a  little  honor.  But  it  is  like 
the  beautiful  setting  out  of  which  the  jewel 
has  been  lost.  And  I  would  not,  mon  petit, 
that  you  should  lose  it  too.  That  is  why  I 
speak  and  tell  you  this  old  history.  It  is  to 
save  you  from  mistake.  Madame  de  Glen- 
orchie  will  suffer  whichever  thing  you  do. 
And  she  needs  to  suffer;  she  is  too  hard,  too 
proud;  it  will  be  better  in  the  end.  But  the 
struggle  caused  by  giving  you  your  happi- 
ness will  be  easier  to  bear  than  her  terrible 
remorse  in  taking  it  away. ' ' 

When  Marignan  ceased  they  sat  a  long 
time  in  silence.  Then  Lomond  rose  and  laid 
his  hand  gently  on  his  friend's  shoulder. 

"Thank  you,  dear  old  fellow,"  he  said, 
looking  down  into  the  painter's  soft  brown 
eyes.  His  own  eyes  were  moist,  and  there 
was  a  tremor  in  his  voice.  "Thank  you  for 
telling  me  all  this.  I  expect  it  has  been 
pretty  hard,  but  with  me  it  will  be  sacred." 

"My  mistake  will  have  been  partly  re- 
deemed," said  Marignan,  as  he  looked  up 


GRISELDA  105 

into  the  young  Scotchman's  grave,  pale  face, 
"when  it  has  prevented  yours." 

"I  will  try  to  make  none,"  said  Lomond, 
as  he  turned  away.  "I  am  resolved.  And 
thank  you  once  again." 

Marignan  watched  him  as  he  crossed  the 
large  hall,  in  which  it  had  now  grown 
almost  dark. 

"Intuitus  eum,  dilexit  eum,"  he  mur- 
mured, under  his  breath,  and  sighed. 

Then  he  turned  to  watch  the  last  lilac- 
tinted  sunset  glow  fade  out  of  the  western 
sky. 


VIII 

Griselda  Grant,  on  leaving  the  lawn  after 
tea,  bore  herself  steadily  till  the  door  of  her 
room  was  closed  and  locked.  Then  she 
threw  herself  face  downwards  on  a  couch 
and  sobbed.  While  the  eyes  of  others  were 
upon  her  she  had  nerved  herself  to  be  calm, 
to  look  as  though  nothing  unusual  were  hap- 
pening, to  speak  as  though  the  conversation 
of  the  moment  were  her  only  thought.  Now 
she  could  bear  up  no  longer. 

She  felt  very  lonely.  There  had  been 
many  moments  in  her  life  when  she  had 
realized  the  bitterness  of  being  fatherless 
and  motherless;  but  Grayburn  had  been 
always  there  as  a  protecting  power,  and  she 
could  turn  to  him.  Now  even  he  had  failed 
her.  She  had  reached  a  point  where  her 
natural  self-reliance  seemed  insufficient. 
She  longed  for  some  one  to  show  her  the 
way,  and  there  was  no  one  in  whose  counsel 
or  affection  she  could  take  refuge.  She 
must  fight  her  battle  and  decide  her  course 
alone;  and  for  the  moment  the  necessity 

106 


GRISELDA  107 

seemed  hard.  And  yet,  even  amid  her  sobs, 
she  did  not  doubt  her  own  ability  to  do  so. 
She  was  disappointed  and  unnerved,  but  not 
in  despair.  A  new  set  of  circumstances 
must  be  faced,  and  she  was  tired  and  heart- 
sore  ;  but  she  knew  that  her  strength  would 
be  equal  to  all  demands,  and  that  she  should 
find  her  way.  She  wept  from  loneliness, 
but  not  from  fear. 

All  through  her  life  she  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  depend  upon  herself.  Her  earliest 
recollections  were  of  an  elderly  Scotch  lady 
with  whom  she  had  lived  in  a  somewhat 
stately,  old-fashioned  house  on  the  Massa- 
chusetts coast,  near  Boston.  In  summer  they 
had  neighbors,  but  in  winter  they  had  none. 
Summer  and  winter,  however,  Griselda  and 
Mrs.  Macleod  lived  quite  alone.  Mr.  Mac- 
leod  was  always  wandering  in  the  West  with 
Grayburn,  seeking  fortune,  and  apparently 
finding  it,  for  there  was  no  lack  of  money  in 
the  lonely  Massachusetts  home.  All  was 
maintained  there  on  a  dignified  footing. 
There  were  servants,  carriages,  horses,  and 
everything  else  that  a  woman  and  child 
could  need  for  comfort. 

The  girl,  however,  felt  no  dependence  on 
her  elderly  companion.  She  had  had  from 


io8  GRISELDA 

the  beginning  an  instinctive  sense  that  the 
modest  establishment  was  maintained  chiefly 
on  her  account,  and  Mrs.  Macleod  had  never 
attempted  to  give  any  other  impression. 
Between  the  two  there  was  affection,  but  no 
sympathy ;  and  as  Griselda  grew  they  drifted 
more  and  more  apart. 

The  tall,  thin,  puritanical  Scotchwoman 
was  narrow  in  nature  and  intelligence. 
She  had  accepted  the  care  of  Griselda  not  as 
a  pleasure  but  as  a  task.  She  obeyed  her 
husband,  and  he  obeyed  Grayburn.  For 
her  the  girl  was  never  anything  more  than 
a  child  of  unfortunate  birth  whom  Gray- 
burn,  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself,  was 
bringing  up  as  though  she  were  his  own.  In- 
wardly the  woman  protested  against  the 
simple  luxury  with  which  her  charge  was 
surrounded.  That  Griselda  should  have 
governesses  and  masters  seemed  to  Mrs. 
Macleod  little  short  of  a  scandal,  when  so 
many  children  born  in  lawful  wedlock  must 
go  untaught.  It  was  to  the  woman's  credit, 
however,  that  she  never  allowed  this  feeling 
to  become  evident  in  act  or  word ;  and  her 
treatment  of  Griselda  was  always  grimly 
kind.  On  one  point  only  had  Mrs.  Macleod 
expressed  her  own  desire.  She  had  chosen 


GRISELDA  109 

the  solitary  house  on  the  Atlantic  seaboard 
because  the  situation  recalled  her  native 
place  in  the  Isle  of  Skye.  All  that  a  large 
city  had  to  give  could  be  brought  to  them 
there,  while  they  themselves  could  remain 
unnoticed  and  apart. 

So  Griselda  grew,  with  no  companions, 
but  needing  none.  From  time  to  time,  in 
summer,  advances  were  made  to  her  by  the 
daughters  of  families  whose  seaside  houses 
were  on  that  coast;  but  the  acquaintances 
thus  made  never  developed  into  intimacy. 
The  very  rumors  that  were  afloat  regarding 
Griselda's  birth  were  enough,  in  the  minds 
of  respectable  parents,  to  place  the  girl  out- 
side the  sphere  of  free  and  easy  friendship. 

On  her  part  Griselda,  though  often  lonely, 
was  neither  unhappy  nor  impatient.  Prac- 
tical rather  than  imaginative,  she  never  lost 
the  consciousness  that  her  present  form  of 
life,  though  it  lasted  for  fifteen  years,  was 
not  to  go  on  always.  It  was  a  time  of  wait- 
ing and  preparation,  though  for  what  she  did 
not  know.  With  a  mind  both  quick  and  re- 
tentive, she  read  and  reflected  much,  bring- 
ing to  bear  upon  her  studies  less  of  sentiment 
than  of  simple  common  sense.  She  was 
proud  and  easily  wounded,  but  reasonable 


no  GRISELDA 

and  just.  Rarely  angry,  and  never  so  with- 
out cause,  she  could  be  passionately  indig- 
nant, and  even  unforgiving.  Her  idea  of 
life,  from  childhood,  had  been  that  of  a 
course,  difficult  but  not  appalling,  in  which 
she  should  be  obliged  to  walk  more  or  less 
alone.  She  accepted  this  fact  without  dis- 
may convinced  that  the  way  would  be  made 
clear  as  she  went  on.  To  courage  and  com- 
mon sense  she  added  much  deep,  if  unde- 
monstrative, religious  feeling;  so  that  if  she 
ever  had  a  moment  of  dejection  she  felt  her- 
self supported  by  the  never-distant  Love. 

What  she  knew  of  her  own  origin  in- 
creased perhaps  this  sense  of  isolation  from 
the  ordinary  world.  There  had  never  been 
any  secret  as  to  her  relationship  to  Gray- 
burn.  Little  by  little,  as  she  grew  older, 
she  learned  the  circumstances  of  her  birth, 
as  far  as  her  guardian  thought  fit  to  make 
them  known.  The  full  truth  he  had  reserved 
until  she  was  twenty-one. 

The  information  she  had  thus  acquired 
served  only  to  heighten  her  affection  for  the 
man  who  had  rescued  her  in  babyhood,  and 
who  had  cared  for  her  incessantly  through- 
out her  life.  Grayburn  was  the  one  truly 
great  figure  of  her  world.  His  comings, 


GRISELDA  in 

and  goings  divided  her  year  better  than 
did  the  seasons.  He  was  to  her  the  incar- 
nation of  all  that  was  noble  and  good.  His 
absences  were  long  periods  of  waiting  for  his 
return.  She  could  not  know  him  very  well, 
and  she  saw  him  only  at  his  best ;  for  his 
visits  though  frequent  were  brief,  and  rather 
for  the  purpose  of  seeing  that  all  went  well, 
than  for  any  pleasure  they  gave  himself. 

Now  and  then,  during  the  hottest  part  of 
the  summer,  he  would  stay  for  a  few  weeks 
at  a  time,  and  these  were  Griselda's  seasons 
of  great  happiness.  She  and  Grayburn  read 
and  rode  and  walked  and  talked  together. 
•It  mattered  little  to  her  that  he  was  a  silent 
and  pre-occupied  companion ;  he  was  there, 
and  that  was  enough ;  whatever  was  lacking 
on  his  part  she  herself  supplied.  She  never 
observed  that  though  kind  he  was  not  ten- 
der; that  he  never  expressed  regret  at  going 
away  or  seemed  to  miss  her  when  he  was 
gone.  She  took  his  goodness  for  granted, 
and  never  doubted  his  affection. 

When  Griselda  was  seventeen  this  quiet 
life  came  suddenly  to  an  end.  Grayburn 
wrote  that  business  was  taking  him  to  Paris 
and  that  he  wished  her  to  come  with  him, 
He  explained  that  he  would  leave  her  there 


ii2  GRISELDA 

for  a  time,  and  gave  her  ten  days  in  which 
to  make  her  preparations.  Within  a  month 
Griselda  found  herself  transplanted  from 
the  Massachusetts  coast  to  the  quaint  and 
courtly  town  of  St.  Germain-en-Laye.  It 
was  a  new  atmosphere,  and  yet  a  life  which 
in  its  seclusion  was  not  wholly  unlike  the 
old. 

After  a  few  days  spent  in  Paris,  in  which 
Grayburn  was  always  occupied,  he  had  taken 
her  to  St.  Germain,  and  had  left  her  with 
the  Baronne  de  St.  Caste.  He  himself  went 
on  to  Vienna,  and  afterwards  to  Berlin. 
Before  returning  to  America  he  paid  his 
ward  a  two-days'  visit,  and  then  was  gone. 

This  sudden  change  was  the  first  trial  of 
Griselda's  life.  She  met  it  bravely,  know- 
ing that  this  too  was  a  period  of  preparation. 
It  was  autumn,  and  as  she  walked  with 
Madame  de  St.  Caste  along  the  historic  ter- 
race or  under  the  yellowing  chestnuts,  she 
longed  with  a  great  homesickness  for  the 
flaming  colors  of  the  Massachusetts  woods, 
and  for  the  purple  autumn  daisies  and  yel- 
low golden-rod  along  the  dusty  roadsides. 
As  she  looked  away  over  the  great  green 
plain,  through  which  the  Seine  twisted  and 
twined  like  a  long  silver  serpent,  to  where 


GRISELDA  113 

Paris  lay  just  visible,  the  Eiffel  Tower  faintly 
etched  against  the  sky,  she  often  sighed  for 
a  sight  of  Egg  Rock,  lying  lone  in  the  Atlan- 
tic, or  for  one  glimpse  of  the  long  low  line 
of  old  Nahant. 

But  time  and  use  have  easy  tasks  at  seven- 
teen, and  Griselda  came  to  care  for  her  new 
surroundings.  She  adapted  herself  to  the 
stately,  sombre  elegance  of  the  old  hotel  in 
the  Rue  du  Vieil  Abreuvoir,  and  had  a  quick 
perception  of  the  mingled  dignity  and  good 
taste  so  characteristic  of  certain  phases  of 
French  life.  In  Madame  de  St.  Caste  she 
found  a  friend,  gentle  and  sympathetic  if 
not  amusing:  and  Griselda  greatly  enjoyed 
the  instruction  in  music,  embroidery,  house- 
hold economy,  and  French  literature  which 
she  took  under  this  lady's  wise  direction. 

The  daughter  of  a  family  of  Napoleonic 
traditions,  and  the  widow  of  a  gallant  officer 
killed  at  Sedan,  Madame  de  St.  Caste  as- 
sumed towards  the  Republic  the  same  atti- 
tude of  proud  aloofness  which  the  members 
of  the  old  nobility  had  maintained  towards 
the  Second  Empire.  Tall,  slender,  grace- 
ful, very  pale,  with  large,  sad  eyes,  she 
seemed  in  her  long,  black,  trailing  robes  like 
the  very  personification  of  France  brooding 


II4  GRISELDA 

over  her  reverses.  She  herself  was  conscious 
of  this,  and  was  proud  of  looking  out  on 
life  much  as  the  statue  of  Strasburg  sur- 
rounded by  patriotic  wreaths  and  mottoes 
might  be  supposed  to  gaze  on  the  gaieties  of 
the  Place  de  la  Concorde.  Madame  de  St. 
Caste  had  never  advanced  beyond  1870.  The 
loss  of  Alsace  and  Lorraine  was  as  bitter  a 
blow  to  her  as  .though  it  had  fallen  yester- 
day. As  Griselda  bent  over  her  embroidery 
frame,  in  the  faded  salon,  or  paced  the  leafy 
allies  of  the  park,  she  heard  endless  tales  of 
Bismarck  and  Benedetti,  of  what  the  Em- 
peror had  said,  and  of  what  the  Empress  had 
worn.  The  Baronne's  lightest  memories 
were  of  balls  at  the  Tuileries  or  f$tes  at 
Compiegne.  Her  husband,  who  had  been  a 
brave  and  handsome  man,  held  a  secondary 
place  in  his  widow's  recollection.  France 
and  the  fashions,  as  they  had  been  before 
the  war,  were  the  favorite  themes  of 
Madame's  subdued  and  sorrowing  conver- 
sation. 

The  Baronne  still  received  on  Saturdays, 
and  then  her  salon  was  frequented  by  sur- 
vivals like  herself;  politicians  who  had  long 
been  forgotten,  artists  who  had  lost  their 
vogue,  with  a  few  old  military  men  who  at 


GRISELDA  115 

eighty  were  still  declaring  their  determina- 
tion never  to  fight  for  the  republic.  Now 
and  then,  when  more  intimate  friends  came 
out  from  Paris,  there  was  a  little  dtjHtnif 
that  was  almost  gay,  at  the  Pavilion  Henri 
IV. 

In  all  this  Griselda  took  her  part,  till  she 
became  mildly  imperialistic  herself.  But 
when  the  three  years  of  this  life  were  over 
she  had  gained  something  more  than  a 
knowledge  of  Second  Empire  politics;  she 
had  attained  the  object  Grayburn  sought, 
and  for  which  he  had  willingly  doubled  the 
Baronne's  modest  income.  When  Griselda 
returned  to  America  those  who  had  known 
her  were  at  once  conscious  of  the  change  in 
her.  Just  what  it  was  no  one  could  define, 
but  every  one  could  see.  It  was  more  than 
the  difference  between  seventeen  and  twenty ; 
it  was  less  in  acquired  knowledge  than  in 
unconscious  charm.  Griselda  had  inherited 
a  certain  Scotch  dignity;  she  had  grown  up 
to  American  ease ;  she  had  added  to  these 
something  of  French  graciousness — that 
tinge  of  sympathy,  that  touch  of  taste,  light, 
unlabored,  indefinable,  intuitive  only  and 
never  to  be  taught,  which  mark  the  French- 
woman of  the  highest  class  in  the  smallest 


n6  GRISELDA 

details  of  speech  and  dress,  of  air  and  ges- 
ture. In  a  court  whose  very  password  was 
brilliancy,  in  a  time  which  placed  almost  too 
high  an  appreciation  upon  elegance,  Madame 
de  St.  Caste  had  been  noted  for  distinction 
of  manners  and  simplicity  of  grace.  Some- 
thing of  these  Griselda  had  acquired,  not 
by  effort  but  by  instinct,  grafting  them  on 
to  her  Scottish  strength  of  character  and 
straightforward  New  England  training. 

Griselda  as  she  was  at  twenty  seemed  to 
Grayburn  to  promise  all  that  he  needed  to 
perfect  his  success.  He  was  already  wealthy ; 
and  he  had  so  managed  her  originally  small 
fortune  that  now  she  tbo  was  rich.  On  the 
day  she  became  of  age  her  entire  income  was 
placed  at  her  disposal.  On  the  same  day 
he  told  her  all  that  there  was  still  to  tell  of 
the  circumstances  of  her  birth. 

Her  life  had  been  so  different  from  the 
lives  of  other  girls  that  Griselda  scarcely 
felt  surprise  at  the  new  facts  which  she  now 
learned.  She  listened  in  silence  while  Gray- 
burn  unfolded  his  plans,  and  made  scarcely 
any  comment  when  he  ceased.  The  knowl- 
edge of  her  complete  independence  in  age 
and  income  increased  her  natural  instinct  to 
act  warily.  She  loved  her  guardian,  and 


GRISELDA  117 

wished  to  please  him,  but  she  would  not 
commit  herself  to  his  plans  by  promise. 
She  did  not  protest,  she  raised  no  objection; 
she  simply  remained  silent.  She  must  think, 
she  must  wait,  before  deciding  whether  she 
could  act  with  him  or  not. 

To  Grayburn  this  silence  meant  submis- 
sion. She  had  never  questioned  his  wishes 
in  the  past ;  and  it  did  not  occur  to  him  that 
she  would  do  it  now.  She  had  done  what 
he  thought  best;  and  this  absence  of  com- 
ment meant  that  she  would  do  it  still. 

On  one  point  only  Griselda  had  expressed 
herself  as  wholly  of  his  opinion.  The  Mac- 
leods  were  returning  to  Scotland  to  enjoy 
their  hardly-earned  wealth.  Grayburn  sug- 
gested that  Griselda  should  go  with  them, 
he  himself  following  when  some  last  busi- 
ness affairs  would  let  him.  To  this  the  girl 
consented.  If  what  Grayburn  wished  were 
to  come  to  pass,  then  she  must  first  survey 
the  ground,  she  must  see  whither  she  would 
be  going  before  taking  the  first  step ;  for  the 
first  step  would  be  the  fatal  one. 

It  had  never  been  her  intention  to  remain 
with  her  elderly  Scotch  companions,  though 
she  had  not  said  so  to  Grayburn.  They 
were  not  what  she  needed,  they  could  give 


u8  GRISELDA 

her  no  help,  and  they  were  not  even  person- 
ally attached  to  her.  On  reaching  London 
her  first  use  of  her  independence  was  to  take 
the  simplest  and  readiest  means  of  putting 
herself  under  more  useful  and  sympathetic 
protection.  This  had  come  about  through 
Lady  Phillida's  advertisement.  Griseldawas 
not  unaware  that  behind  such  a  paragraph 
there  might  easily  be  fraud  or  bad  faith ;  but 
if  so,  she  did  not  doubt  her  ability  to  deal 
with  it.  She  would  test  the  matter  and  see. 

The  first  meeting  with  Lady  Phillida  Gris- 
elda  felt  to  be  a  turning  point  in  her  life. 
She  had  a  sense  of  crossing  the  threshold  of 
another  world.  The  interview  took  place  in 
Lady  Phillida's  drawing-room  in  Queen's 
Gate,  whither  Griselda  had  come  by  ap- 
pointment. The  letters  which  had  passed 
between  the  two  had  been  absolutely  non- 
committal on  both  sides,  and  Griselda  had 
already  decided  her  method  of  courteous  re- 
treat in  case  of  dissatisfaction  with  what  she 
found. 

As  she  alighted  at  the  door  her  quick, 
practical  eye  took  in  every  detail.  The  ex- 
terior of  the  house  with  its  window  boxes  of 
flowers,  and  curtains  of  rich  guipure  behind 
them,  showed  signs  of  taste  and  care.  She 


GRISELDA  119 

remarked  the  footman  who  admitted  her,  and 
the  hall  with  its  carved  furniture  and  old 
prints.  During  the  two  minutes  of  waiting 
in  the  drawing-room  she  received  a  distinct 
if  vague  impression  of  beauty,  comfort,  and 
well-ordered  ease.  When  a  portiere  was  lifted 
and  Lady  Phillida,  wearing  a  long,  loose 
morning-robe  of  pink  and  white,  came 
briskly  in,  Griselda  thought  for  a  second 
that  there  must  be  some  mistake. 

Lady  Phillida  shook  hands  cordially,  and 
apologized  for  being  late.  The  apparent 
absence  of  any  embarrassment  on  her  part 
put  Griselda  entirely  at  ease.  When  they 
sat  down  the  conversation  fora  few  moments 
consisted  of  such  commonplace  remarks 
as  two  acquaintances  might  exchange  dur- 
ing an  ordinary  call.  But  these  moments 
were  decisive ;  for  it  was  then  that  each  of 
the  two  women  examined,  criticised,  and 
summed  up  the  other.  No  detail  on  either 
side  of  voice,  feature,  manner,  or  dress  es- 
caped quick  and  comprehensive  scrutiny. 

As  Lady  Phillida  was  saying  aloud  that 
one  must  be  very  careful  in  one's  choice  of  a 
hansom  in  the  street,  she  was  secretly  re- 
marking that  the  simplicity  of  Griselda's 
dark  blue  gown  was  that  which  only  taste 


iao  GRISELDA 

and  money  can  achieve,  and  wondering 
whether  it  was  American  or  French.  Gris- 
elda,  in  saying  that  for  some  purposes  she 
preferred  a  hansom  to  a  brougham,  was  not- 
ing that  Lady  Phillida  was  really  older  than 
she  seemed  at  a  passing  glance,  and  that  she 
gave  every  evidence  of  a  frank  and  faithful 
nature. 

"Now  let  us  talk  about  business, "  Lady 
Phillida  said  cheerily,  after  five  minutes  had 
thus  passed.  "Let  us  find  out  who  each 
other  is." 

"That  is  easier  for  me  than  you,"  said 
Griselda.  "As  compared  with  me  you  are 
like  a  city  on  a  hill. ' ' 

"And  if  you  are  a  light  under  a  bushel," 
Lady  Phillida  rejoined,  "I  hope  it  is  not  to 
be  for  long." 

Then  Griselda  gave  a  brief  account  of  her- 
self. She  stated  that  she  was  an  orphan,  en- 
tirely alone,  wholly  independent,  with  no 
woman  friend  closer  than  Madame  de  St. 
Caste,  that  she  was  Scotch  by  birth,  Amer- 
ican by  education,  and  that  Grayburn  had 
been  her  guardian. 

"And  I,"  said  Lady  Phillida,  her  hands 
clasped  in  her  lap,  and  her  large  gray  eyes 
fixed  eagerly  on  Griselda's,  "I  am  a  woman 


GRISELDA  121 

of  the  world,  poor  and  lonely.  Yes,  I  am 
poor, ' '  she  repeated,  in  answer  to  an  invol- 
untary expression  of  surprise  in  Griselda's 
face.  "Poverty  and  wealth  are  merely  rela- 
tive terms,  and  if  my  surroundings  suggest 
affluence  it  is  because  I  must  have  them.  I 
am  a  professional  person,  you  know — a  sort 
of  professional  mother  to  motherless  girls. 
Everybody  knows  it,  and  I  am  not  ashamed. 
I  give  them  the  best  I  have,  the  best  of  my- 
self, and  the  best  of  the  little  things  I  have 
learned  not  always  very  easily.  You  will 
find  people  to  call  me  hard,  or  frivolous,  or 
mercenary,  or  eccentric.  That  is  only  be- 
cause I  live  my  life  in  my  own  way  and  not 
in  theirs.  If  I  had  put  on  a  cap,  and  buried 
myself  in  a  useless  existence  at  Leamington 
or  Tunbridge  Wells,  I  should  have  passed 
very  well  in  the  world  as  a  genteel  widow  in 
reduced  circumstances.  But  I  couldn't  do  it; 
I  was  too  much  of  a  mother.  Even  when 
my  husband  was  living  my  heart  always 
went  out  to  the  young  half-fledged  things 
who  were  being  dragged  through  society  by 
incompetent  hands,  or  were  trying  to  push 
their  way  for  themselves.  I  had  been  a 
motherless  girl  myself,  and  if  my  dear  friend 
Lady  Glenorchie  had  not  taken  me  under  her 


122  GRISELDA 

gentle  wing — you  know  her?" 'Lady  Phil- 
lida  asked,  as  Griselda  started  slightly. 

"No.  I  have  heard  of  her  only.  Please 
go  on.  I  am  so  interested. ' ' 

"Well,  if  Lady  Glenorchie  had  not  be- 
friended me  I  should  have  fared  no  better 
than  many  another.  A  girl  in  her  social  life 
must  be  like  a  voice  in  a  chorus,  sweet  and 
in  tune,  but  unobtrusive.  I  think  you  have 
that  quality,"  Lady  Phillida  added  frankly, 
looking  at  Griselda  with  a  critical  expres- 
sion. "You  have  a  personal  note  of  your 
own,  but  one  which  does  not  startle." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  Griselda,  color- 
ing and  smiling.  "Perhaps  it  is  through 
having  lived  so  much  alone. ' ' 

"Perhaps,"  said  Lady  Phillida.  "You 
are  neat,  finished,  modest,"  she  went  on  in 
an  appraising  tone,  "intelligent,  competent, 
and  not  vain.  You  have  good  taste,  a  low 
voice,  and  a  nice  manner.  You  lack  free- 
dom rather  than  ease,  and  you  are  too  visi- 
bly in  earnest.  But  you  have  all  the  quali- 
fications. ' ' 

"For  what?"  Griselda  asked. 

"For  whatever  you  want  to  be.  I  don't 
know  your  ideals,  but  I  am  sure  they  are 
good  ones. ' ' 


GRISELDA  123 

"I  have  none  as  yet;  I  am  only  a  mother- 
less girl  in  search  of  motherly  protection." 

' '  So  much  the  better.  You  will  find  your 
ideals  as  you  go  on.  But  I  was  telling  you 
how  I  came  to  take  up  this  work.  When  my 
husband  died  I  was  left  even  poorer  than  I 
had  been  before,  and  I  have  always  been 
poor  enough.  I  was  not  only  poor  but  lonely. 
Then  I  began  to  ask  myself  if  I  had  any 
vocation  which  could  fill  up  my  life.  It 
struck  me  one  day  that  I  had  something  of 
the  same  yearning  towards  unmothered  girls 
which  led  Madame  de  Maintenon  to  found 
St.  Cyr.  Only  there  was  this  difference. 
Madame  de  Maintenon  brought  her  girls  up 
to  the  edge  of  their  social  life,  and  then 
turned  them  adrift.  I  wanted  to  take  them 
where  she  let  them  go.  All  through  the 
time  of  my  heaviest  mourning  I  used  to 
make  plans  for  what  I  should  do  when  I 
began  to  go  out  again.  Then  one  day  my 
Solicitor,  who  knew  how  small  my  means 
were,  came  and  asked  me  if  I  would  take 
charge  of  an  Australian  girl.  It  seemed  to 
me  as  though  it  were  a  special  Providence, 
and  so  it  was,  for  it  taught  me  how  not  to 
do  it.  The  girl  was  rich  and  dreadful.  She 
treated  me  as  a  hired  lady-companion,  and 


i24  GRISELDA 

during  our  year  together  I  learned  more 
from  her  than  she  from  me.  My  next  was 
an  English  girl,  rich  too  and  an  orphan,  but 
with  relatives  who  called  me  to  account 
every  three  months,  and  addressed  me  as 
a  sort  of  upper  governess.  After  that  I 
decided  to  pick  and  choose  for  myself.  I 
saw  my  way  more  clearly.  I  would  not  be 
dependent  on  my  solicitor's  selection,  and 
so  I  advertised.  The  result  has  been  an 
embarras  de  richesse.  Your  own  letter  was 
but  one  among  seventeen,  and  you  are  the 
seventeenth." 

"Then  I  fear  my  chance  is  a  poor  one," 
said  Griselda. 

"It  was  till  this  morning.  I  had  almost 
decided  on  a  nice  girl  from  Bermuda.  But 
now  that  we  have  come  face  to  face,  I  don't 
think  I  am  rash  in  saying  that  if  you  will 
take  me  I  will  take  you." 

So  the  matter  was  settled,  and  Griselda 
came  at  once  to  Queen's  Gate.  It  was  then 
early  in  May,  and  during  the  season  Miss 
Grant  saw  all  that  she  could  reasonably 
desire  of  London  life.  Lady  Phillida  had 
not  been  wrong  in  predicting  for  her  new 
friend  a  great  social  success.  People  had 
nicknamed  the  house  in  Queen's  Gate  "The 


GRISELDA  125 

Orphan's  Home";  but  as  Lady  Phillida's 
orphans  were  invariably  rich  and  pretty,  a 
new  one  was  certain  of  exciting  curiosity 
beforehand.  This  Griselda  did  not  know, 
and  so  was  without  self-consciousness.  She 
took  her  life  as  a  matter-of-course  and  was 
quite  unaware  of  the  mingling  of  admiration 
and  speculation  which  she  created.  Current 
reports  of  her  wealth  were  exaggerated,  but 
the  general  recognition  of  her  taste,  intelli- 
gence, and  beauty  was  no  more  than  just 
Lady  Phillida  had  never  had  a  pupil  so 
faithful  to  her  social  precepts,  and  of  whom 
she  could  be  so  proud. 

The  fateful  moment  of  the  season  had 
been  the  afternoon  when,  at  Lady  Keene's, 
Griselda  had  been  struck  by  the  resemblance 
to  her  own  father  borne  by  a  tall  young  man, 
with  fair  hair  and  a  blonde  moustache. 

"Who  is  that?"  she  asked  with  quick  and 
unusual  interest. 

"Lomond,  come  here,"  Lady  Phillida 
called  promptly,  and  the  young  man  came 
forward. 

Griselda  turned  suddenly  pale  at  hearing 
the  name,  but  recovered  herself  before  any 
one  could  have  remarked  her  emotion. 

Up  to  this  moment  her  life  in  London  had 


J26  GRISELDA 

been  gay  and  amusing;  now  it  took  on  a 
new  and  deeper  interest.  Between  herself 
and  Lomond  an  instantaneous  sympathy 
arose.  Sympathy  quickly  developed  into 
something  stronger;  and  when  he  asked  her 
to  marry  him  she  would  have  sacrificed 
everything  she  possessed  to  do  it. 

"But  can  I?"  she  asked  herself;  and  she 
could  find  no  answer. 

When  the  invitation  to  Lomond  Lodge 
had  come  Griselda  had  shrunk  from  accept- 
ing it.  There  were  so  many  reasons  which 
made  it  inexpedient  to  go.  She  had  yielded 
only  in  the  hope  that  once  there  her  path 
might  become  clearer.  It  was  possible,  she 
thought,  that  in  Lady  Glenorchie  she  might 
find  another  friend,  another  Madame  de  St. 
Caste  or  Lady  Phillida.  Instead,  Griselda 
and  Lomond's  mother  had  become  instinct- 
ive opponents,  if  not  actual  enemies. 

It  was  the  first  check  Griselda  had 
received,  and  she  resented  it.  London,  with 
its  easy  going  indifference  to  antecedents, 
had  accepted  her.  Lady  Glenorchie  stood 
for  the  old-fashioned  pride  and  precision  of 
the  provinces.  To  her  Griselda  was  not 
only  a  rich  nobody;  there  hung  about  her, 
in  Lady  Glenorchie 's  opinion,  something  of 


GRISELDA  127 

the  mystery  which  marks  the  adventuress. 
Miss  Grant  was  perfectly  aware  of  the 
silent,  scornful  sentence  thus  passed  upon 
her,  and  her  whole  nature  rose  in  proud 
protest  and  indignation.  Lady  Phillida  had 
discovered  that  once  upon  a  time  a  woman 
of  the  Wimpole  family  had  married  a  Grant 
and  gone  to  America.  After  that  she 
jokingly  called  Griselda  her  distant  cousin. 
The  sweet  smile  of  delicate  derision  with 
which  Lady  Glenorchie  heard  the  word 
cousin  seemed  to  turn  the  possible  into  the 
absurd.  She  glanced  in  amusement  at  Lady 
Phillida,  and  then  turned  to  look  Griselda  up 
and  down,  not  haughtily,  but  with  gentle 
cruelty,  as  though  the  girl  herself  must  enjoy 
the  jest. 

The  fact  that  Griselda  admired  Lady 
Glenorchie  made  this  unceasing  and  barely 
perceptible  scorn  the  harder  to  bear.  Apart 
from  the  fact  that  she  was  Lomond's  mother, 
Miss  Grant  would  have  cared  vastly  more 
for  the  approval  of  this  distinguished,  high- 
bred woman  than  for  Lady  Phillida's  less 
fastidious  regard.  Lady  Glenorchie  on  her 
own  side  had  moments  of  compunction 
towards  Griselda.  Her  sense  of  the 
exquisite  was  too  keen  not  to  do  justice  to 


,28  GRISELDA 

the  mingling  of  daintiness  and  dignity  which 
Griselda  carried  with  her,  and  which  made 
Miss  Dumbleton's  shy  reserve  seem  like  the 
unformed  manner  of  a  school-girl.  But  the 
fact  that  she  had  this  bearing  without 
"birth"  was  in  itself  suspicious,  and  so  Lady 
Glenorchie  choked  her  incipient  admiration 
down. 

Thus  the  weeks  at  Lomond  Lodge  went 
by,  and  Griselda  grew  even  more  uncertain 
of  her  course.  She  had  looked  forward  to 
Grayburn's  coming  in  the  hope  that  he  could 
give  her  counsel.  She  had  hoped  that  he 
would  advise  her  to  marry  Lomond.  With 
his  support  she  could  have  done  so  in  spite 
of  all  difficulties.  Now  he  had  failed  her, 
and  she  must  make  her  decision  for  herself. 

For  a  long  time  she  lay  sobbing  on  the 
couch  until  her  nerves  grew  calm.  When 
she  could  cry  no  more  she  lay  still — list- 
lessly, idly,  almost  indifferently.  Then  with 
her  accustomed  energy,  she  rose,  bathed  her 
eyes,  smoothed  her  hair,  and  adjusted  her 
dress. 

"I  must  think,"  she  said  to  herself. 

She  took  a  chair  and  sat  down  by  an  open 
window,  looking  out  over  a  beautiful  extent 
of  shrubbery  to  where  the  late  sunlight 


GRISELDA  ia9 

flashed  and  twinkled  on  the  glass  of  the  hot 
houses  just  visible  between  the  trees.  Her 
eye  fixed  itself  on  this  point  of  light  while, 
with  characteristic  conciseness,  she  marked 
out  the  different  paths,  among  which  she 
had  to  choose.  She  confronted  first  one 
alternative,  then  the  other. 

"I  can  definitely  refuse  him,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "and  go  away.  That  will  mean 
that  I  lend  myself  to  Mr.  Grayburn's  plans, 
even  if  I  do  not  marry  him.  It  will  mean 
that  in  a  few  days'  time  I  declare  myself  the 
enemy  of  the  man  I  love  and  for  whom  I 
would  willingly  sacrifice  everything.  No. 
The  position  would  be  terrible." 

"Or,"  she  went  on,  "I  can  marry  him. 
If  so  it  must  be  on  condition  that  he  seek  to 
know  no  more  than  he  knows  at  present; 
that  he  ask  no  question ;  that  he  leave  my 
secret  with  me  until  I  am  ready  to  tell  it. 
That  is  a  hard  position  in  which  to  place  a 
man,  but  there  is  no  other  way.  If  .he 
refuse  I  must  refuse.  To  marry  him  thus 
will  mean  that  I  accept  Lady  Glenorchie's 
judgment  of  me  as  an  adventuress.  It  will 
mean  that  he  himself  can  hardly  have  any 
other  opinion.  There  will  always  be  in  his 
mind  a  question  as  to  whether  he  has  done 


i3o  GRISELDA 

right  or  not.  As  long  as  this  secret  exists 
it  will  be  like  a  wide  black  and  empty  space 
between  us.  It  will  be  hard  for  him  and 
for  his  mother.  It  will  be  harder  still  for 
me.  That  is  where  my  part  in  the  sacrifice 
comes  in.  If  he  be  ready,  I  shall  be  ready. 
I  love  him  well  enough  to  live  under  any 
cloud  rather  than  lose  him. 

"I  could  not  tell  him  beforehand,"  she 
went  on  with  a  shudder.  "No,  that  would 
be  worst  of  all.  It  would  be  too  cruel.  He 
would  insist  on  the  die  being  thrown.  His 
honor  would  demand  it.  Then,  if  I  lost  I 
could  not  marry  him.  If  I  won,  he  could 
not  marry  me.  There  is  but  one  way — the 
way  of  the  secret  and  the  sacrifice.  It  is 
possible  to  make  it  the  way  of  trust  and 
love. ' ' 

She  rose  as  she  came  to  this  decision,  and 
her  features  regained  their  usual  expression 
of  serenity  and  strength.  Then  going  to 
her  bedside,  she  knelt  down  and  buried  her 
face  in  prayer.  As  she  prayed  she  sobbed 
again.  She  longed  so  much  to  be  like  other 
girls.  Secrecy  was  to  her  something  akin  to 
shame.  But,  she  told  herself,  she  would  be 
gentle;  she  would  disarm  Lady  Glenorchie's 
pride  with  humility ;  she  would  bear  every- 


GRISELDA  131 

thing,  and  bend  to  everything,  and  win  by 
patience  where  she  could  not  conquer  by 
force. 

When  she  rose  from  her  knees  she  felt 
herself  strong  for  action  and  meek  for 
endurance,  asking  only  for  love. 


IX 


Griselda,  on  entering  the  drawing  room 
before  dinner,  found  that  she  was  the  last 
to  come.  As  Grayburn  saw  her  at  the  door, 
he  left  Marignan  with  whom  he  had  been 
talking,  and  went  towards  her.  She  was  in 
white,  with  but  two  touches  of  color — the 
blue  of  a  large  and  lovely  turquoise  at  her 
breast,  and  that  of  another  in  her  dark  hair. 

"I  thought  you  would  be  here,"  she  said, 
smiling  as  though  no  great  question  were 
between  them.  "I  am  so  glad.  Perhaps 
you  will  take  me  in." 

"No,  I  take  in  Lady  Phillida,  but  they 
may  put  me  beside  you.  If  not,  I  want  to 
say  now  what  I  may  be  unable  to  say  later, 
that  we  shall  leave  here  to-morrow.  We 
have  so  much  to  do  and  to  say!  And  besides 
we  shall  have  to  go  very  soon  to  Scotland. 
Can  you  be  ready  for  the  ten-thirty  train  to 
Waterloo?" 

"We?"  she  asked,  turning  pale  again, 
"Whom  do  you  mean?" 

"You  and  I,  of  course." 
132 


GRISELDA  133 

"But  I  can't  leave  Lady  Phillida.  I  am 
bound  to  her." 

"Nonsense,"  he  said  with  good  humored 
impatience.  "Now  that  I  have  come  you 
must  be  with  me.  I  will  make  everything 
right  with  Lady  Phillida." 

Before  Griselda  could  reply  a  movement 
among  the  guests  indicated  that  they  were 
going  in  to  dinner. 

Marignan  approached  Griselda  and  asked 
if  he  might  have  the  pleasure.  Grayburn 
went  forward  and  offered  his  arm  to  Lady 
Phillida.  Lomond  had  already  begun  the 
procession  with  deaf  old  Lady  Bracknell, 
while  Lady  Glenorchie,  splendid  in  black 
velvet,  old  lace,  and  diamonds,  came  with 
Lord  Bracknell  in  the  rear. 

At  table  the  hostess  placed  Grayburn  on 
her  own  left ;  while  Griselda  found  herself 
between  Lomond  and  Marignan.  This 
arrangement  of  places  had  not  escaped  Lady 
Glenorchie 's  attention  when,  Just  before 
dinner,  her  son  had  submitted  the  list  to 
her,  but  hers  was  the  pride  which  would 
not  descend  to  petty  mistrust,  and  she  had 
signified  her  approval. 

Lomond  was  quite  aware  that  Lady 
Bracknell  much  preferred  to  be  left  to  her 


i34  GRISELDA 

deafness  and  her  dinner.  After  his  first 
ineffectual  remark  she  told  him  so. 

' '  But  you  can  always  hear  me, ' '  he  called. 

"Eh?  What?"  she  asked  in  her  soft  voice. 

"You  can  always  hear  me,"  he  shouted. 

"Near  you?  Yes,  I  like  to  be  near  you. 
But  I  don't  want  to  be  any  nearer." 

"That  isn't  very  kind,"  Lomond  shouted 
again 

"You  don't  mind?  Neither  do  I;  but  we 
must  respect  the  opinion  of  the  table." 

The  old  lady  laughed  and  turned  her 
attention  to  her  soup. 

"None  are  so  deaf  as  those  who  will  not 
hear,"  said  Griselda.  "Lady  Bracknell's 
affliction  must  amount  to  a  gift.  She  can 
escape  so  much  in  the  way  of  conversation. 
It  must  be  delightful  to  listen  only  when  one 
wants  to  hear;  and  speak  only  when  one 
has  something  to  say." 

"But,"  said  Marignan,  "we  should  miss 
some  of  the  pleasantest  moments  of  our 
lives  if  we  did  that. ' ' 

"Quite  so,"  said  Lomond.  "The  best 
talk  is  not  the  wittiest,  it  is  that  which 
drifts  on  aimlessly  between  friends,  whose 
remarks  haven't  perhaps  the  slightest  value. ' ' 

"I  agree  with  you,"  Griselda  said,  "when 


GRISELDA  135 

the  talk  is  that  of  friends.  But  with  our 
ordinary  acquaintance  we  expend  a  great 
deal  of  energy  to  produce  a  very  poor  result. 
We  talk  to  cover  ground  which  we  might  as 
well  pass  over  in  silence." 

"And  yet  the  best  things  are  often  said 
that  way,"  Marignan  interposed.  "They 
come  by  accident,  like  diamonds  in  the 
sand. ' ' 

"Yes,"  Griselda  said.  "But  there  is  such 
a  lot  of  sand  and  the  diamonds  are  so  few. ' ' 

"You  prefer  the  jewels,"  said  Marignan, 
"collected  and  cut  and  strung  into  a 
necklace." 

"Miss  Grant  feels  about  conversation," 
said  Lomond,  "as  I  do  about  Wagner's 
operas.  There  are  splendid  passages  here 
and  there,  but  one  is  bored  to  death  waiting 
for  them.  When  they  come  one's  powers 
of  listening  are  played  out.  If  they  could 
give  us  the  Love-Death  or  Siegfried's 
funeral  march  at  the  beginning  of  the  first 
act  I  for  one  should  be  able  to  enjoy  it. 
Then  one  could  go  home  or  to  the  club, 
while  the  rest  was  sung  to  the  enthusiasts. ' ' 

"Speaking  of  Wagner, "  said  Griselda  in 
a  lower  voice,  while  Marignan  turned  to 
talk  with  Miss  Dumbleton,  "do  you  remem- 


i36  GRISELDA 

her  the  first  time  you  came  into  our  box  at 
Covent  Garden?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lomond,  also  lowering  his 
voice  and  bending  slightly  towards  her,  "It 
was  the  evening  after  our  first  meeting  at 
Lady  Keene's.  I  remember  that  you  would 
scarcely  speak  to  me ;  you  were  so  taken  up 
with  looking  at  the  Princess  of  Wales. ' ' 

"It  was  Lohengrin,"  she  said,  musingly. 

"With  Jean  de  Reszke  and  Madame 
Eames,"  he  added.  "How  enraptured  you 
were !  and  how  they  sang ! ' ' 

"It  was  the  problem  of  the  two  lives," 
she  said,  "which  interested  me  mere  I  think 
than  the  beauty  of  the  music. ' ' 

"But  it  is  so  rare  a  problem.  It  is  scarcely 
more  than  situation  in  a  dream. ' ' 

"But  a  situation  which  might  occur  in 
waking  life.  What  do  you  think  of  Elsa?" 

"I  scarcely  know  what  you  mean.  One 
feels  the  beauty  of  the  conception.  She  is 
so  poetic  a  creation  that  it  seems  like 
defamation  of  character  to  call  her  weak." 

"Do  you  think,"  she  went  on,  "that  any- 
thing could  justify  a  modern  man  or  woman 
asking  of  another  such  trust  as  Lohengrin 
demanded  of  her?" 

There  was  a  sudden  light,  like  that  of  a 


GRISELDA  137 

sapphire,  in  Lomond's  blue  eyes.  He  began 
to  understand  her. 

"I  think  it  possible,"  he  said. 

"Possible  to  ask  such  trust?" 

"And  possible  to  give  it,"  he  said,  firmly. 

"On  whose  side?  The  man's  or  the 
woman's?" 

"On  that  of  either. " 

"Think  a  moment,"  she  said,  while  Lom- 
ond helped  himself  to  the  cutlets  she  had 
refused.  "Do  you  sincerely  think  it  pos- 
sible for  a  man  or  woman  in  these  days  to 
marry  as  Lohengrin  required  that  Elsa  should 
marry  him,  knowing  nothing  of  his  history 
and  not  even  his  name?  Do  you  believe 
that  to  be  possible?" 

"I  can  imagine  circumstances  under  which 
it  might  be  necessary." 

"And  what  do  you  think  would  be  their 
chances  of  happiness?" 

"That  would  depend  on  the  strength  of 
character  displayed  by  the  two  who  decided 
to  take  such  a  course. 

"Does  it  seem  to  you  that  Elsa  and 
Lohengrin  could  have  lived  out  their  year  of 
secrecy  and  trust  without  any  shadow  aris- 
ing between  them?" 

"With  a  stronger  nature  than  Elsa's,  yes." 


i38  GRISELDA 

"That  is  probably  because  you  think  it 
unnecessary  that  a  woman  should  know  all 
about  her  husband,  but  essential  that  a 
man  should  know  all  about  his  wife.  You 
think  that  an  attitude  of  complete  trust  is 
easier  for  her  than  for  him." 

"In  general,  I  suppose,  that  is  true.  But 
there  are  situations  where,  no  doubt,  the 
contrary  is  the  case. ' ' 

"Can  you  imagine  a  man  of  the  world, 
intelligent  and  upright,  going  into  a 
marriage  blindfolded,  knowing  nothing,  and 
seeking  to  know  nothing  of  the  woman  he 
loves,  loving  her  enough  to  trust  himself 
absolutely  to  her  good  faith?" 

"The  situation  would  be  rare,  but  I  can 
believe  it  to  exist. ' ' 

"And  what  of  the  folly  of  the  man  who 
would  venture  such  a  step?" 

"There  is  a  woman,  with  whom  such  a 
step  would  not  be  folly;  whom  a  man  could 
not  only  love  to  the  uttermost  but  trust  in 
the  face  of  all  appearances." 

"Am  I  that  woman?" 

"Yes.     And  I  am  that  man." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  softly,  turning  her 
eyes  away  from  the  flashing  blue  light  in  his. 

For  a  few  moments  neither  spoke.     The 


GRISELDA  139 

conversation  around  them  was  lively  and 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  laughing. 
Marignan,  guessing  something  of  what  was 
taking  place,  gave  his  whole  attention  to 
Miss  Dumbleton.  Lady  Bracknell  chuckled 
and  nodded  towards  one  or  another  of  her 
friends  at  table,  now  and  then  making 
dumb-show  gestures  which  caused  a  laugh. 
Lady  Phillida  and  Grayburn  were  engrossed 
with  each  other,  while  Lady  Glenorchie  and 
Lord  Bracknell  talked  of  the  new  arrange- 
ments for  Her  Majesty's  Drawing  Room, 
which  were  giving  so  much  dissatisfaction. 
Lomond  and  Griselda  not  to  attract  atten- 
tion, engaged  also  in  the  general  conversa- 
tion until  a  convenient  moment  came  to  talk 
together  again. 

"You  must  forgive  me  for  being  the  first 
to  bring  the  subject  up  again,"  Griselda 
said.  "I  ought  to  have  waited,  but  there 
was  no  time.  I  am  in  great  trouble." 

Lomond  looked  at  her.  She  was  flushed 
and  trembling. 

"You  can  have  no  trouble  that  is  not 
mine,"  he  said.  "Let  me  help  you.  Let 
us  bear  everything  together.  We  are  both 
young  and  strong.  There  is  nothing  we 
cannot  face  if  you  love  me," 


i4o  GRISELDA 

"You  must  know  that  I  love  you,"  she 
said  with  a  faint  smile.  "You  must  know 
it  as  well  as  I  know  that  you  love  me. ' ' 

"I  didn't  know  it  till  now.  You  have 
been  so  elusive,  so  perplexing,  so  con- 
tradictory." 

"I  had  to  be.  I  have  still  to  be.  That  is 
where  I  must  ask  you  to  bear  with  me,  to 
have  faith  that  I  am  acting  for  the  best,  or 
else " 

She  hesitated. 

"Or  else  what?" 

"Or  else  our  love  must  end  where  it  has 
begun. ' ' 

"Better  anything  else  in  the  world  than 
that,"  he  said  firmly.  "Don't  you  see  that 
we  belong  to  each  other,  that  we  were  made 
for  each  other.  Griselda,  I  will  never  let 
you  go.  Once  knowing  that  you  care  for 
me,  I  will  do  the  impossible  rather  than  lose 
you.  I  know  that  in  the  end  we  can  make 
my  mother  happy.  She  will  come  to  see 
you  as  I  do." 

"That  must  be  as  it  may,  Nigel.  I  for 
one  will  work  and  pray  for  it.  I  will  win 
her  if  it  is  possible  for  one  heart  to  con- 
quer another.  Only  if  we  are  to  succeed  we 
must  be  prompt.  There  is  no  time  to  lose ; 


GRISELDA  141 

that  is  why  I  speak  of  it  here  and  now.  I 
told  you  I  was  in  trouble,  and  it  is  this. 
Mr  Grayburn,  my  guardian,  will  insist  on 
taking  me  away  to-morrow.  That  in  itself 
is  a  small  thing ;  but  he  does  it  because  he 
wants  to  marry  me. ' ' 

Lomond  started  with  astonishment. 

"Of  course,"  Griselda  continued,  "I  can 
struggle  and  refuse ;  but  I  love  him,  and  a 
life  of  constant  battling  with  his  will  would 
be  terrible  to  me.  Besides,"  she  added, 
confronting  his  gaze  with  an  expression  at 
once  maidenly  and  passionate,  "besides  I 
cannot  turn  away  from  your  love  and  give 
it  up.  It  is  my  only  refuge  in  the  world. 
Will  you  take  me  into  it?" 

"From  this  moment,"  Lomond  replied, 
the  vibration  of  his  voice  betraying  the 
intensity  of  his  emotion,  "from  this 
moment  I  am  your  protector.  I  am  all  that 
you  have  never  had  in  father,  mother,  or 
brother.  I  shall  never  ask  your  secret.  I 
shall  never  look  for  any  explanation  but 
such  as  you  yourself  may  give.  Tell  me 
what  you  care  to  tell,  or  tell  me  nothing  at 
all.  I  love  you;  and  I  am  glad,  I  am  proud, 
to  prove  my  love  like  this,  to  prove  my 
faith,  to  prove  my  conviction  that  the 


i42  GRISELDA 

woman  who  is  to  be  my  wife  is  as  high  and 
holy  in  mind  as  she  is  beautiful  in  person." 

"And  you  will  not  find  your  trust  mis- 
placed," she  said,  lifting  her  head  proudly. 
"Of  what  you  give  me  I  shall  prove  myself 
worthy." 

"And  I  too,"  he  said,  bending  towards 
her  with  a  deference  almost  humble,  "I 
too  shall  try  to  deserve  the  great  blessing  of 
your  love." 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  silence. 
When  Griselda  spoke  her  eyes  shone  with 
tears.  • 

"Now,"  she  said,  smiling,  "I  can  go 
away.  I  shall  be  afraid  of  nothing." 

"You  shall  not  go  away  until  you  are 
known  to  every  one  here  as  my  promised 
wife. ' ' 

"Miss  Grant,"  said  Waynflete,  leaning 
across  the  table,  "do  you  know  the  differ- 
ence between  a  chicken  with  its  neck  broken 
and  the  Tenth  Sunday  after  Trinity?" 

The  lighter-minded  guests  were  amusing 
themselves  with  riddles.  Thus  called  upon 
Griselda  was  obliged  to  make  some  suitable 
reply.  Again  she  and  Lomond  joined  in 
the  general  talk,  trying  to  take  the  same 
tone  as  their  neighbors;  and  succeeding  so 


GRISELDA  143 

well  that  before  another  opportunity  was 
given  them  for  private  speech  Lady  Glen- 
orchie  rose.  Griselda  tried  to  say  a  last 
word  in  passing,  but  finding  it  impossible 
silently  followed  Miss  Dumbleton  from  the 
room. 

"Because  its  neck's  weak  —  next  week, 
don't  you  see?"  Waynflete  called  out  to 
Griselda  as  he  held  the  door  open  for  the 
ladies  to  pass.  "Very  good,  ain't  it?" 

Griselda  smiled,  but  had  for  the  moment 
neither  the  wit  nor  the  will  to  reply. 

Waynflete  closed  the  door  behind  her  with 
a  mental  observation  that  women  had  no 
sense  of  humor. 

Lady  Glenorchie  led  her  guests  not  into 
the  drawing  room,  but  to  the  great  hall,  a 
large  and  lofty  apartment  of  baronial  aspect 
but  neither  too  stately  nor  too  cold.  On  the 
contrary  the  great  hall  was  the  brightest 
and  most  cheerful  of  all  the  bright  and 
cheerful  rooms  in  Lomond  Lodge.  The 
walls  were  hung  with  the  most  striking 
portraits — Holbeins,  Vandykes,  Lelys  and 
Gainsboroughs — of  the  house  of  Tulloch. 
Here  and  there  a  piece  of  tapestry  charmed 
the  eye  with  its  soft  blues  and  greens.  A 
large  open  fire-place  with  a  famous  carved 


144  GRISELDA 

white  marble  mantel-piece,  brought  by  the 
last  Lord  Lomond  from  an  old  house  in 
Verona,  suggested  warmth  and  welcome. 
The  staircase,  also  of  white  marble,  carpeted 
in  red,  lent  dignity  to  the  hall  and  half  way 
up  its  length  branched  off  in  both  direc- 
tions, as  though  to  make  a  place  for  "Le  bel 
Ecossais,"  who  from  this  point  of  vantage 
looked  down  upon  the  scene.  Over  the 
mantel-piece  hung  Gainsborough's  portrait 
of  Alison  Tulloch,  whose  marriage  with  the 
first  Lord  Glenorchie  had  recently  brought 
the  Lomond  earldom  into  the  house  of 
Graham.  All  other  furnishings  of  the  great 
hall  were  modern,  meant  for  use  and  com- 
fort. Luxurious  chairs  invited  the  lounger 
to  literature,  contemplation,  or  repose.  The 
newest  books,  journals,  and  magazines  were 
scattered  about  in  agreeable  disorder; 
while  in  quiet  corners  there  were  tables  on 
which  were  writing  materials  or  cigars  and 
cigarettes. 

Lady  Bracknell  having  taken  a  comfort- 
able chair  near  the  foot  of  the  staircase, 
Lady  Glenorchie  sat  down  beside  her,  thron- 
ing herself,  as  it  were,  in  a  straight  and 
high-backed  Gothic  seat,  right  in  the  centre 
of  the  hall.  Lady  Phillida  and  Miss  Dum- 


GRISELDA  145 

bleton  in  their  lower  places  looked  like 
dames  of  honor  waiting  on  a  queen. 
Griselda,  engrossed  with  her  own  emotions, 
remained  standing  somewhat  apart,  idly 
turning  the  pages  of  The  Illustrated  London 
News.  A  servant  brought  in  coffee.  The 
ladies  talked  of  the  recent  marriage  of  Lord 
Dover  to  a  young  lady  of  the  music  halls, 
the  news  of  which  Lord  Bracknell  had  just 
brought  down  from  London.  Lady  Phillida 
regretted  it,  Miss  Dumbleton  was  silent, 
Lady  Bracknell  was  amused. 

"The  wife  is  no  doubt  worthy  of  the  hus- 
band," said  Lady  Glenorchie  scornfully, 
"but  I  am  sorry  for  Eliza  Dover.  Her  son 
was  all  she  had  to  live  for,  and  now  he  is 
worse  than  dead.  No  misfortune  is  equal 
to  that  of  an  unworthy  marriage.  Other 
mistakes  can  be  rectified;  other  troubles 
can  be  lived  down.  But  a  marriage  stamps 
husband  and  wife  forever  and  indelibly 
with  its  own  peculiar  quality  whatever  it 
may  be.  The  man  who  marries  an  adven- 
turess can  never  raise  her  to  his  level ;  he 
must  sink  to  hers.  She  may  have  beauty, 
intelligence,  and  the  very  best  intentions, 
but  she  can  never  be  to  her  husband  other 
than  a  great  and  permanent  misfortune. ' 


i46  GRISELDA 

Griselda,  standing  with  the  journal  in  her 
hand,  distinctly  heard  each  word,  and  knew 
that  it  was  meant  for  her ;  but  Lady  Glen- 
orchie  had  scarcely  finished  speaking  when 
the  door  at  the  further  end  of  the  hall  was 
opened  and  the  men  came  in. 

Lomond  walked  first;  behind  him  Lord 
Bracknell  and  Marignan  were  talking 
together;  Garth  and  Waynflete  followed; 
Grayburn  was  last  and  alone. 

Lomond  came  up  the  hall,  walking  swiftly, 
his  head  erect,  his  cheek  flushed,  his  blue 
eyes  flashing.  Griselda  had  a  sense  of 
danger.  She  put  down  her  journal  and 
hastily  moved  towards  him.  She  divined 
what  was  to  follow  and  would  have  stopped 
him,  but  he  was  too  quick  for  her. 

Seizing  her  hand  he  led  her  forward  to 
where  his  mother  sat  on  her  throne-like 
chair.  The  other  men,  seeing  the  action 
pressed  on  in  curiosity  and  surprise.  The 
group  of  women  sat  amazed  and  motion- 
less. 

"No,  no,  Nigel,  not  now,"  Griselda  cried, 
trying  to  release  herself  and  shrinking  back. 

"Yes,  now,  Miss  Grant,"  Lady  Glenorchie 
said  with  a  sudden  sternness,  from  which 
all  her  accustomed  gentleness  was  gone, 


GRISELDA  147 

"Yes,  now,"  she  repeated,  "now  as  well 
as  another  time. ' ' 

"You  are  right,  mother,"  Lomond  cried, 
"I  bring-  you  my  future  wife.  Welcome 
her — now  as  well  as  another  time. ' ' 

There  was  a  moment  of  deep  silence. 
Griselda  stood  before  Lady  Glenorchie 
with  bowed  head  and  cheeks  aflame.  She 
was  half  terrified,  half  indignant  at  being 
thus  haled,  without  warning  or  prepara- 
tion, before  her  judge. 

The  minute  of  silence  seemed  long.  All 
eyes  were  fixed  on  Lady  Glenorchie,  who 
rose  slowly  as  though  to  deliver  sentence. 
Her  face  was  pale ;  her  bearing  regal ;  her 
black  robes  swept  around  her  feet.  Gray- 
burn  stood  apart,  turning  his  gaze  first  on 
one  and  then  on  another  of  the  three  chief 
actors  in  the  scene.  Then  in  a  low, 
restrained,  passionless  voice  Lady  Glenorchie 
spoke. 

"You  cannot  marry  this  young  lady, 
Lomond.  Do  you  know  who  she  is?  No,  of 
course  not.  Then  I  will  tell  you,  since  I 
am  sure  she  has  not  done  so  herself. 
Listen  to  me." 

Griselda  raised  her  head  and  looked  at 
Lady  Glenorchie.  The  flush  of  shame  had 


i48  GRISELDA 

died  from  her  cheek,  but  in  her  eyes  there 
was  the  first  bright  light  of  anger.  What 
would  this  woman  say?  What  did  she 
know?  How  far  would  she  go? 

"This  young  lady,"  said  Lady  Glenorchie, 
speaking  coldly  and  clearly,  "is  the 
daughter  of  a  maidservant.  Her  father,  or 
reputed  father,  died  as  a  felon  in  America. 
She  has,  however,  no  right  to  his  name ;  she 
bears  her  mother's.  Her  education  was 
probably  given  her  as  a  charity.  Her 
means  come  from — she  herself  best  knows 
where. ' ' 

"Mother,  mother!"  cried  Lomond,  making 
a  step  forward  as  though  to  force  her  to  be 
silent.  "Mother,  for  God's  sake " 

"I  will  speak,  Lomond,"  she  said,  quietly. 
"You  have  brought  this  on  Miss  Grant 
and  on  yourself.  Had  you  come  to  me  in 
private  I  should  have  told  you  in  private. 
But  it  is  better  that  all  our  friends  should 
know  the  truth,  than  that  you  should  bring 
upon  yourself  such  dishonor.  Marry  her  if 
you  will,  Nigel,  but  at  least  do  so  knowing 
who  she  is,  and  not  as  a  dupe  and  a  tool." 

Lady  Glenorchie  sat  down  again.  There 
was  another  pause.  Lomond  stood  like  a 
man  shot  who  has  not  yet  fallen.  Grayburn 


GRISELDA  149 

stroked  his  beard  and  made  no  sign.  Not 
one  of  the  guests  moved. 

Griselda  stood  absolutely  still  passing 
through  every  feeling  of  shame,  indignation, 
and  outraged  self-respect.  Had  Lomond 
leaped  instantly  to  her  side  she  would  have 
thrown  herself  into  his  arms  and  remained 
silent.  But  he  stood  near  his  mother,  as 
though  turned  to  stone.  The  instants  were 
brief,  but  they  seemed  long.  A  great  wave 
of  anger  surged  up  rapidly  in  the  girl's  pas- 
sionate, desperate  heart — of  anger  which 
enveloped  mother  and  son  together  in  one 
immense  outpouring  of  resentment  and  dis- 
dain. When  she  spoke  her  voice  was  low 
but  her  emphasis  was  quick  and  cutting. 

"I  will  not  marry  you,  Lord  Lomond," 
she  said,  turning  towards  him.  "I  could 
not  now.  Lady  Glenorchie  has  told  you 
some  of  the  truth.  Let  me  tell  it  all.  You 
knew  there  was  something  in  my  life  which 
I  could  not  explain  to  you.  I  will  do  it 
now.  I  do  it  unwillingly,  forced  by  insults 
which  no  woman  could  bear  without  resent- 
ment, which  I  at  least  will  not  bear  out  of 
respect  for  my  own  mother's  name.  It  is 
true  she  was  a  maidservant.  It  is  true  my 
father  was  a  felon.  But  it  is  also  true  that 


150  GRISELDA 

I  am  their  lawful  child.  It  is  true  that  I 
have  borne  my  mother's  and  not  my 
father's  name.  His  name  was  Kenneth 
Tulloch.  Had  he  lived  he  would  have 
been  Earl  of  Lomond. ' ' 

Griselda  paused.  There  was  a  slight 
movement  and  a  long-drawn  breath  among 
the  guests.  Grayburn  still  stood  stroking 
his  beard  and  looking  on.  Neither  Lomond 
nor  his  mother  moved. 

"Lady  Glenorchie,"  said  Griselda,  turning 
towards  the  queen-like  figure  in  the  Gothic 
chair,  "you  know  what  that  means.  It  is 
I  who  have  inherited  the  Earldom  of 
Lomond.  I  have  the  means  to  prove  my 
right.  I  came  to  England  to  do  so.  Then 
I  met  your  son.  We  loved  each  other.  He 
asked  me  to  be  his  wife.  I  could  not  tell 
him  who  I  was  lest  his  honor  should  have 
insisted  on  putting  my  pretensions  to  the 
test.  In  that  case  I  might  have  failed. 
His  generosity  might  still  have  been  shown 
to  me,  but  I  could  not  then  have  accepted 
it.  On  the  other  hand  I  might  have  won. 
Then  he  would  have  accepted  nothing  from 
me.  Lady  Glenorchie,"  she  went  on,  with 
a  deeper  ring  of  passion  in  her  voice,  "I 
loved  your  son  well  enough  to  give  up  all  for 


GRISELDA  151 

him.  If  you  had  only  received  me  I  should 
never  have  spoken  of  this,  not  till  the  end 
of  time.  Before  answering  him  I  came  here 
with  the  one  purpose  of  seeing  you,  of  try- 
ing to  win  your  affection,  or  at  least  your 
toleration.  When  I  failed  in  that  I  was  will- 
ing to  bear  your  reproaches,  your  scorn, 
your  worst  ill-will,  rather  than  give  up  the 
man  I  loved.  But  after  your  words  to- 
night I  can  bear  no  more.  I  can  keep 
silent  no  longer.  I  have  my  mother's  honor 
to  avenge.  I  claim  to  be  Griselda  Tulloch, 
Countess  of  Lomond.  I  contest  your  son's 
right  to  bear  my  father's  name.  I  contest 
your  right  to  rule  in  this  house.  If  I  fail  you 
will  have  suffered  no  wrong.  If  I  succeed,  it 
will  be  because  you  by  your  haughty  cruelty, 
by  your  never-ceasing  unkindness  towards  a 
forlorn  and  defenceless  girl  have  forced  me 
to  claim  my  own. ' ' 

She  paused  and  turning  towards  Lomond 
held  out  her  hand. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said.  "It  might  have 
been  otherwise.  Now  it  is  all  over. ' ' 

"No,  by  God!"  the  young  man  cried, 
seizing  her  hand  in  both  of  his  and  drawing 
her  towards  him.  "It  shall  not  end  thus." 

"Let  me  go,"  she  said,  with  the  same  air 


152  GRISELDA 

of  self-possession.  "It  must  end  thus. 
Good-bye.  Good-bye. ' ' 

Without  looking  at  any  one  she  turned 
and  walked  towards  Grayburn. 

"Take  me  away,"  she  said,  putting  her 
arm  in  his,  "now,  to-night." 

"Not  without  me,"  cried  Lady  Phillida, 
who  broke  the  tension  among  the  guests 
by  rising  and  throwing  her  arms  around 
Griselda.  The  girl  clung  to  her  with  a 
quick  almost  hysterical  sob,  and  together 
the  two  women  followed  by  Grayburn  left 
the  hall. 

Lady  Glenorchie  sat  quite  still,  but  she 
seemed  to  have  suddenly  grown  old.  Her 
face  was  white  and  haggard,  her  mouth 
drawn,  and  her  eyes  dull.  But  she  mastered 
herself  quickly  remembering  who  and  what 
she  was. 

"It  has  been  quite  like  a  scene  in  private 
theatricals,"  she  said  with  an  attempt  to 
smile.  "Nigel  how  can  you  be  so  rash? 
You  do  such  impetuous  things.  Now  that 
the  play  is  over  perhaps  Lord  Bracknell 
would  like  a  game  of  whist. ' ' 

"I  don't  think  Lord  Bracknell  cares  to 
play  to-night, ' '  said  Lomond  significantly. 

"No,    no,    certainly  not,   certainly  not," 


GRISELDA  153 

said  the  old  peer,  rising-  hastily  and  beck- 
oning to  his  wife.  "I  am  sure  it  is  time 
for  us  to  be  going;  I  know  our  carriage  is 
at  the  door. ' ' 

When  they  had  gone  the  other  guests 
found  reasons  for  following  their  example, 
and  Nigel  and  his  mother  were  left  alone. 


Lady  Phillida,  Grayburn  and  Griselda 
returned  that  night  to  London.  The  two 
ladies  went  to  Queen's  Gate,  he  to  an  hotel. 

In  the  morning  Grayburn  came  to  see 
his  ward.  He  found  her  in  her  little 
sitting  room  upstairs.  She  was  ner- 
vously pacing  up  and  down,  a  hectic  spot 
burning  on  each  cheek  and  her  eyes  fever- 
.ishly  bright. 

"Come  in,  come  in,"  she  said  with  excite- 
ment in  her  voice,  "I  was  going  to  send  for 
you.  I  wanted  to  see  you." 

Grayburn,  correctly  dressed  as  usual, 
placed  his  hat  and  gloves  on  the  nearest 
table,  and  going  forward  took  both  her 
hands  in  his  and  kissed  her  gravely  on  the 
forehead. 

"You  are  a  brave  girl,"  he  said.  "You 
threw  down  the  glove  last  night  like  a 
soldier. ' ' 

"Did  I?"  she  said  with  a  nervous  laugh. 
"I  hope  so.  And  now  we  must  fight  our 
battle." 

154 


GRISELDA  155 

"And  win  it." 

"Yes,  and  win  it,"  she  repeated.  "I  have 
staked  everything  on  that.  We  must  not 
fail  now  or  show  the  white  feather  whatever 
it  may  cost." 

"It  will  not  cost  much,"  he  said,  looking 
down  into  her  eyes.  "Only  what  I  asked 
you  yesterday." 

"You  still  desire  that,  after  what  you 
heard  last  night?" 

"I  never  change,  I  never  forsake  the  ends 
I  have  once  had  in  view. ' ' 

"You  would  marry  me,  knowing  that  I 
have  given  my  heart  elsewhere?" 

"Knowing  rather,  that  you  have  found 
yourself  mistaken." 

"Yes,  I  have  found  that,"  she  said 
bitterly.  "I  was  mistaken.  I  admit  it.  I 
thought  I  loved  him.  I  thought  he  was 
brave  and  manly,  and  yet  he  listened  with- 
out a  word  while  I  was "  Her  voice 

broke,  she  could  not  go  on. 

"My  little  girl,"  he  said  soothingly,  draw- 
ing her  towards  him,  "you  have  had  your 
first  taste  of  the  bitterness  of  life.  But  I 
am  here  to  help  you.  To  whom  should  you 
turn  rather  than  to  me?  These  people  have 
despised  you  from  the  first.  You  were 


156  GRISELDA 

wrong  to  trust  yourself  among  them.  But 
we  shall  have  our  revenge;  and  when  you 
next  go  to  Lomond  Lodge  it  shall  be  as 
mistress,  and  with  me." 

"I  shall  never  go  there  again,  not  if  I 
were  its  mistress  a  thousand  times,"  she  said 
vehemently.  "I  want  only  one  thing — to 
prove  the  claim  I  made  last  night,  to  show 
them  that  I  am  their  equal,  even  if  I  was 
born  amid  horror  and  shame.  I  want  to 
humble  them  as  they  have  humbled  me. 
Then  they  can  keep  the  Lomond  lands  and 
the  Lomond  money  and  the  Lomond  titles 
too.  I,  at  least,  shall  not  take  them.  I 
want  to  clear  my  mother's  name  and  my 
own  honor,  and  make  them  acknowledge 
themselves  beaten.  Then  I  shall  be 
content." 

She  began  again  to  pace  feverishly  up 
and  down  the  room. 

"You  can  do  all  that,"  Grayburn  said, 
leaning  his  arm  on  the  mantel-piece,  and 
closely  watching  her  quick,  excited  move- 
ments. "You  can  do  it  easily,  but  not  with- 
out me." 

"You  will  help  me?  You  will  help  me? 
I  know  you  will  help  me.  You  would  not 
leave  me  to  fight  this  battle  alone?" 


GRISELDA  157 

She  stopped  before  him,  and  he  looked  at 
her  with  a  significant  smile. 

"Yes,  I  will  help  you,"  he  said.  "Of 
course;  but  at  my  own  price,  and  only  at 
that." 

"Then  I  will  pay  it,"  she  said,  with  a 
quick,  strong  effort,  while  something  like 
the  resolution  of  despair  flashed  in  her  eyes. 
"I  will  pay  it  to  the  uttermost;  only  we 
must  win.  When  I  have  humbled  them  I 
shall  care  for  nothing  further  for  myself. 
You  shall  do  with  me  what  you  will.  I 
shall  have  sold  myself  to  you  and  I  will  not 
shrink  from  the  contract." 

"Spoken  again  like  a  soldier." 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  cried  impatiently.  "I  can 
be  brave.  I  have  always  had  the  quality  of 
going  on  without  breaking  down.  I  shall 
not  break  down  now — neither  now  nor 
later.  But  there  is  something  better  in  life 
than  courage,  and  I  am  losing  that.  I  have 
already  lost  it.  I  shall  never  have  it  any 
more." 

But  she  dashed  away  the  tears  that  were 
gathering  and  controlled  herself. 

"Never  mind,  never  mind,"  she  went  on, 
trying  to  laugh.  "We  shall  at  least  have 
the  excitement  of  the  fight.  We  shall  fill 


i58  GRISELDA 

our  lives  with  that.  We  shall  know  that 
Lady  Glenorchie  is  eating  out  her  own  heart 
with  rage  and  shame  and  humiliation.  And 
he?  What  will  he  do?  He  will  go  abroad 
I  suppose;  beaten  by  a  woman;  beaten  by 
the  woman  he  loved  but  whom  he  had  not 
the  courage  to  defend.  He  will  know  then 
what  he  has  lost.  It  will  be  more  than 
honors,  it  will  be  honor.  Yes,  yes,  it  is 
worth  paying  for.  I  will  give  you  what  you 
ask  the  very  day  we  bring  about  their 
defeat.  Go  on,  go  on,  and  count  on  me.  I 
shall  not  fail  you.  I  shall  be  ready.  I  am 
ready  even  now.  When  can  we  begin? 
When  can  we  send  in  our  petition  to  the 
Queen?  Who  is  this  Garter  King  at  Arms? 
Why  cannot  we  go  to  him?  I  am  ready — " 
"Gently,  gently,  dear,"  Grayburn  said, 
laying  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  stop- 
ping her  in  her  feverish  walk.  "You  are 
nervous  and  over- wrought.  You  must  not 
make  yourself  ill.  You  are  tired  and  ought 
to  rest.  You  have  need  of  all  your  strength. 
I  shall  go  away,  and  you  had  better  lie 
down.  When  I  come  back  this  evening  I 
shall  explain  everything  to  you  and  all  our 
line  of  action.  You  will  then  be  better 
able  to  understand, ' ' 


GRISELDA  159 

Griselda  controlled  herself  and  grew  more 
calm. 

"You  are  right,"  she  said,  dashing  her 
hand  across  her  eyes.  "I  suppose  I  am 
tired.  My  head  aches  as  well  as  my  heart. 
Go  away,  now,  and  I  shall  be  better  when 
you  return." 

When  he  had  kissed  her  and  withdrawn, 
Griselda  sank  helplessly  into  the  nearest 
chair,  her  emotion  changed. 

"After  all,"  she  said  to  herself,  "I  am  to 
be  his  wife.  I  have  sold  myself!  I  have 
sold  myself!"  Then  she  moaned  aloud. 

4 '  My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken 
me!" 

The  sound  of  her  own  voice  startled  her. 

"No,  no,"  she  said  to  herself  again.  "I 
must  not  talk  like  that.  I  shall  go  mad  if 
I  let  myself  go  on.  I  have  too  much  to  do 
to  give  way.  When  I  have  done  to  them  as 
they  have  done  to  me,  it  will  not  matter. 
But  now  I  must  be  calm  and  cool.  I  must 
rest." 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  a 
card  was  brought  to  Griselda  bearing  the 
name  of  Lord  Glenorchie.  She  was  sitting 
in  the  drawing  room  with  Lady  Phillida, 
trying  to  drink  a  cup  of  tea. 


160  GRISELDA 

"I  cannot  see  him,"  she  said,  as  she 
passed  the  card  to  Lady  Phillida.  "Will 
you  see  him  for  me?  Tell  him  what  I  have 
said.  Explain  to  him  that  any  further 
meeting  between  us  under  the  circumstances 
would  be  useless  to  him  and  impossible  to 
me.  I  have  taken  the  fatal  step,  and  I  must 
go  on. ' ' 

4 'It  may  be  best  for  me  to  see  him,"  said 
Lady  Phillida.  "I  can  do  so  at  any  rate, 
and  send  for  you  if  it  becomes  necessary. ' ' 

Griselda  rose  to  go  away  and,  as  she  did 
so,  mechanically  took  up  the  card  which 
Lady  Phillida  had  laid  down.  For  the  first 
time  she  took  note  of  the  change  of  title. 

"He  calls  himself  Lord  Glenorchie,"  she 
said.  "Have  you  noticed  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Phillida,  "It  is  delicate 
on  his  part. ' ' 

"It  is  odious  on  mine,"  Griselda  cried, 
"odious,  horribly  odious,  to  try  to  take  from 
any  one  what  he  is  in  possession  of  and  what 
he  no  doubt  enjoys.  I  should  never  have 
done  it  if  she  had  not  driven  me  into  it.  But 
I  cannot  go  back  now.  See  him  and  tell 
him  so.  Tell  him  that  after  his  fear  and 
hesitation  last  night  I  no  longer  care  for 
him.  Tell  him  that  I  do  not  want  his 


GRISELDA  161 

money  or  his  lands  and  that  I  only  contest 
his  title  for  my  mother's  sake.  Is  it  not  too 
hideous, ' '  she  cried  with  a  sudden  change  of 
tone,  "that  I,  a  girl,  should  be  placed  in  this 
position?  And  yet  I  must  go  on  with  the 
struggle  to  the  bitter  end. ' ' 

Lady  Phillida  said  nothing.  She  was  not 
in  sympathy  with  Griselda's  new  situation, 
though  she  was  loyal  to  the  girl  herself. 
She  thought  her  claim  to  the  Lomond 
earldom  chimerical,  likely  to  end  in  con- 
fusion and  disaster. 

When  Griselda  had  gone,  Lord  Glenorchie, 
as  he  had  decided  to  call  himself,  was  shown 
up.  He  had  come  straight  from  Ascot. 

Lady  Phillida  went  forward  and  took  his 
hand. 

"Excuse  me,"  she  said,  "for  being  here, 
but  Griselda  asked  me  to  see  you.  She  her- 
self felt  unequal  to  doing  so. ' ' 

He  looked  haggard  and  tired,  and  Lady 
Phillida  felt  sorry  for  him. 

"Sit  down,"  she  went  on,  "and  have  a 
cup  of  tea  with  me.  It  will  do  you  good. 
You  don't  look  as  though  you  had  eaten  any- 
thing to-day. ' ' 

' '  I  have  not, ' '  he  said,  as  he  took  the  seat 
Griselda  had  left.  "Thank  you.  I  will 


162  GRISELDA 

take  some  tea.  That  is  Griselda's  empty 
cup,  isn't  it?  She  has  just  gone  upstairs. 
Why  wouldn't  she  see  me?" 

"She  isn't  well  enough,"  Lady  Phillida 
said,  as  she  passed  him  his  cup.  "She  did 
not  sleep  last  night,  and  to-day  she  is  very 
nervous. ' ' 

"I  am  nervous  too,"  he  said,  swallowing 
his  tea  hastily.  "Good  heavens,  what  a 
mess  we  are  in !  How  are  we  ever  to  get 
out  of  it?  What  does  Griseldamean?  What 
is  she  going  to  do?" 

"If  you  want  me  to  speak  candidly,  I 
think  she  is  going  to  push  her  case  and  try 
to  take  your  earldom. ' ' 

•"She  can  have  it,"  he  cried,  impatiently. 
"I  shall  not  defend  it.  I  never  thought  it 
impossible  that  an  heir  to  Kenneth  Tulloch 
should  turn  up,  though  I  didn't  expect  the 
news  to  come  like  this." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  then?" 

"Do?  What  can  I  do?  I  can  only  let 
Griselda  and  that  adventurer  Grayburn 
bring  their  case  before  the  lords.  I  sit 
among  them  only  in  my  barony.  I  have 
not  yet  made  any  petition  for  the  Scotch 
earldom  even  though  I  have  assumed  the 
title.  The  estates  have  simply  been  put 


GRISELDA  163 

into  my  hands  by  the  late  earl's  execu- 
tors." 

"What  does  your  mother  think?" 

"She  thinks  as  I  do,  that  our  only  plan  is 
to  relinquish  everything  that  has  come  to 
us  through  the  Lomond  interest  until 
Griselda  has  formally  put  forth  her  claim. 
It  will  be  humiliating  but  it  must  be  done. 
I  was  wrong  to  have  assumed  the  title  so 
soon,  and  without  more  investigation.  In 
any  case  I  don' t  want  it.  I  am  sick  of  it. 
The  only  thing  I  care  for  is  to  have  Griselda 
for  my  wife,  and  now  I  suppose  she  won't 
look  at  me." 

"She  certainly  says  she  will  not  marry 
you.  She  thinks  that  you  deserted  her  last 
night,  that  you  should  not  have  listened  to 
attacks  upon  her  name  without  springing  to 
her  defence." 

"Will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  me 
what  I  was  to  do?  I  couldn't  strike  my 
mother  dumb." 

"Griselda  herself  in  the  end  accomplished 
that." 

"Yes.  It  was  her  powder  and  shot  that 
told  at  last." 

"How  did  your  mother  learn  so  much 
about  her?  I  certainly  didn't  know  the  two 


164  GRISELDA 

or  three  exciting  facts  relative  to  Griselda's 
origin  with  which  we  were  entertained  last 
night. ' ' 

"Upon  my  life  I  don't  know.  I  have 
asked  her  but  she  refuses  to  tell.  I  can't 
help  suspecting  that  that  cad  Grayburn  has 
had  some  hand  in  it." 

"Excuse  me,  Nigel,"  Lady  Phillida  said, 
coloring  slightly  and  beginning  to  move 
aimlessly  the  cups  on  the  table,  "but  I  don't 
think  you  should  call  Mr.  Grayburn  a  cad, 
nor  even  an  adventurer  as  you  did  a  moment 
ago.  He  is  not  only  a  gentleman  by  birth 
but  a  most  able  and  interesting  man.  It  is 
in  fact  his  connection  with  this  case  which 
alone  makes  me  feel  that  there  may  be 
something  more  to  Griselda's  claim,  than  at 
first  one  might  suppose." 

"I  will  call  him  anything  you  please,"  he 
cried,  getting  up  and  striding  across  the 
room,  "if  you  will  only  let  me  see  Griselda. 
Why  did  she  run  away?  She  must  know 
that  we  can't  end  the  matter  like  this. 
There  is  much  that  we  must  talk  about  and 
explain.  She  must  see  me.  Go  to  her, 
please,  Lady  Phillida,  and  ask  her  to  come 
down,  if  only  for  ten  minutes,  if  only  for 
five,  if  only  for  one,  just  that  I  may  see  her, 


GRISELDA  165 

just  that  I  may  feel  that  she  has  not  dropped 
out  of  my  life  like  a  star  from  the  sky.  Do 
go  to  her." 

"You  poor  boy,"  Lady  Phillida  said, 
smiling  affectionately.  "I  will  go,  though 
I  can't  promise  that  she  will  come.  Per- 
haps she  will  be  wiser  not  to  do  so,  but  I 
will  go  and  ask  her  all  the  same." 

When  left  alone  Glenorchie  stood  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  door.  Presently  it 
opened  and  Griselda  glided  in,  closing  it 
softly  behind  her. 

"Griselda!  My  darling!"  Glenorchie 
cried,  making  a  quick  movement  as  though 
he  would  take  her  in  his  arms. 

"No,  no,"  she  said,  raising  her  hand. 
"Stay  there.  Do  not  come  near  me.  I 
have  come  only  because  you  sent  for  me.  If 
you  have  anything  to  say  I  will  hear  it  and 
go  away." 

She  kept  her  place  close  by  the  door.  She 
was  dressed  in  black  and  was  very  pale. 
Glenorchie  thought  he  had  never  seen  her 
so  lovely. 

"Anything  to  say!"  he  cried.  "I  have  all 
to  say.  Do  you  not  see,  Griselda,  that  after 
we  have  acknowledged  our  love,  after  the 
promise  you  gave  me  at  dinner  last  night, 


166  GRISELDA 

after  that  I  gave  you,  do  you  not  see  that 
we  cannot  part  like  this?  It  is  madness. 
It  is  out  of  the  question." 

"We  do  not  part, "  she  said,  "we  have  been 
parted.  We  ought  never  to  have  known 
each  other.  It  is  my  fault.  When  I  first 
knew  who  you  were  I  should  have  let  our 
acquaintance  cease.  I  should  never  have 
gone  to  Ascot.  When  I  saw  that  Lady 
Glenorchie  despised  me  so  I  should  have 
come  away.  But  I  could  not  have  foreseen 
last  night.  You  did  wrong  to  drag  me  like 
that  before  her." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  he  said,  quickly,  "at 
least  I  know  it  now.  But  I  wanted  to  take 
my  mother  by  surprise.  I  wanted  to  pre- 
sent you  to  her  before  others.  In  private  I 
knew  I  had  no  chance,  but  I  thought  that  in 
public  she  would  yield.  I  counted  on  her 
pride,  on  her  horror  of  anything  uncon- 
ventional or  theatrical.  I  was  mistaken.  I 
confess  it.  But  I,  too,  could  not  have  fore- 
seen the  bombs  that  were  thrown  both  on 
your  side  and  on  hers. ' ' 

"Even  so,  when  you  saw  me  wounded  and 
broken  you  might  have  come  to  my  aid. 
But  you  doubted  me.  Yes,  you  doubted 
me.  You  believed  what  you  heard.  You 


GRISELDA  167 

assumed  that  I  was  guilty.  It  may  have 
been  only  for  a  night,  it  may  have  been  only 
for  a  moment,  but  while  the  doubt  lasted 
you  allowed  me  to  be  scourged  with  words 
which  cut  more  sharply  and  deeply  than 
cords  and  which  neither  of  us  ever  can 
forget. ' ' 

"Griselda,  I  never  doubted "  he 

began. 

"Let  me  go  on,"  she  interrupted.  "Had 
you  come  to  my  side,  had  you  taken  my 
hand,  when  your  mother  held  me  up  to  scorn 
I  should  never  have  spoken  in  my  own 
defence.  But  you  did  nothing.  Yes,  yes, 
I  know  you  would  have  stopped  her  if  you 
could,  but  you  none  the  less  left  me  alone, 
and  so  the  fatal  word  which  must  separate 
us  was  spoken.  And  it  cannot  be  with- 
drawn. It  is  too  late.  For  reasons  which 
it  would  only  pain  you  more  to  tell  you  now, 
it  is  too  late.  When  I  said  good-bye  to  you 
last  night  it  was  forever.  Henceforth  you 
must  regard  me  as  an  enemy. ' ' 

"There  is  such  a  thing  as  friendly  litiga- 
tion." 

"Not  in  a  case  like  this.  Too  much  has 
been  said;  too  much  has  been  felt.  Too 
many  serious  interests  hang  on  the  issue," 


!68  GRISELDA 

"And  yet,"  he  said,  with  an  impatient 
gesture,  "and  yet,  you  say  you  loved  me. " 

"Yes,  I  loved  you,"  she  said  unflinchingly. 

"And  love  me  still." 

"No,  I  do  not  admit  that.  I  don't  know 
what  I  feel  for  you.  Everything  is  changed 
since  last  night,  and  we  are  further  apart 
than  if  we  had  never  known  each  other." 

"You  are  incomprehensible,"  he  ex- 
claimed. "Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  to 
please  you,  to  content  you,  to  save  the 
situation?" 

"Nothing.  There  was  a  moment  when 
you  could  have  done  it,  but  it  passed.  Now 
we  must  fight  our  battle  in  public,  and 
abide  by  the  issue  of  the  struggle." 

"And  afterwards?  What  then?  I  shall 
see  you.  We  can  still  be  friends.  We  can 
still  perhaps  make  all  come  right." 

"No,"  she  said  in  a  faint  voice,  "don't 
count  on  that. ' ' 

"I  will  count  on  it,  Griselda.  We  shall 
see.  Love  is  stronger  than  you  with  your 
cold  reasoning  suspect. ' ' 

"Not  here,"  she  said,  still  more  faintly. 

"Here  more  than  elsewhere,"  he  insisted. 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,  with  a  visible  effort, 
"perhaps  I  had  better  tell  you  now  what 


GRISELDA  169 

you  must  in  any  case  learn  later.  I  meant 
to  have  kept  it  from  you  to  save  you  from 
further  pain ;  but  we  shall  understand  each 
other  better  if  you  know  at  once.  I  have 
already  promised  to  marry  some  one  else. ' ' 

"Oh,  Griselda,"  he  cried  in  the  tone  of  a 
man  who  has  been  stabbed. 

"Yes,"  she  went  on  cruelly;  "I  am  to 
marry  Mr.  Grayburn. " 

"But  why?  Why?  Couldn't  you  have 
waited?" 

He  came  nearer  as  he  spoke,  his  face  drawn 
with  pain. 

"No,  I  could  not  wait.  It  is  he  who 
holds  the  proofs  which  alone  can  clear  my 
mother's  honor." 

"And  you  have  sold  yourself  to  gain 
them?" 

"Yes. 

"And  to  avenge  yourself  on  my  mother?" 

"And  on  you." 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 
Then  with  his  eyes  still  fixed  upon  her,  he 
slowly  took  his  hat  and  gloves  from  the 
table  where  they  lay,  and  bowing  to  her 
coldly,  left  the  room. 

She  listened  to  his  footsteps  descending 
the  stairs.  She  heard  them  resound  on  the 


170  GRISELDA 

tiled  floor  of  the  hall  below.  She  heard  his 
hand  on  the  latch.  Then  she  rushed  after 
him. 

"Nigel,  Nigel,"  she  called  desperately. 
"Nigel,  come  back,  come  back." 

But  he  was  gone. 

When  Lady  Phillida  returned,  Griselda 
was  lying  senseless  on  the  floor. 


PART  II 


XI 


Six  months  later,  on  a  bright  February 
morning,  Griselda,  dressed  in  a  loose,  lace- 
like,  white  morning  robe,  was  seated  before 
a  blazing  fire  in  her  little  sitting  room  up 
stairs.  Her  breakfast  stood  untasted  on  the 
table,  while  she  herself,  pale  and  pensive, 
sat  with  eyes  fixed  upon  the  crackling 
flames.  On  the  hearthrug  lay  a  torn  envel- 
ope bearing  the  inscription,  "On  Her 
Majesty's  Service,"  and  addressed  to  "  The 
Right  Honorable,  the  Countess  of  Lomond. ' ' 
In  Griselda's  lap  was  a  large,  unfolded 
paper,  of  legal  aspect,  which  she  had  just 
received  and  opened.  It  was  the  official 
intimation  that  her  cause  was  won. 

It  was  not  precisely  a  surprise;  for  she 
had  been  informed  already  that  the  Com- 
mittee for  Privileges  of  the  House  of  Lords 
had  passed  a  resolution  to  the  effect  that 
"Griselda  Tulloch  had  made  out  her  claim 
to  the  honor  and  dignity  of  Countess  of 
Lomond  in  the  Peerage  of  Scotland,  and 
that  this  resolution  should  be  reported  tq 
173 


i74  GRISELDA 

the  House."  But  the  reception  of  this 
official  document  put  the  seal  upon  certainty. 
It  was  not  a  declaratory  patent,  but  it  had 
the  same  effect. 

Griselda  had  thus  obtained  her  object.  She 
had  cleared  her  name;  she  had  proved  her 
mother's  honor;  she  had  avenged  herself 
on  the  house  of  Graham. 

It  had  been  very  easy ;  there  had  been  no 
struggle  after  all.  Some  doubt  had  been 
expressed  at  first,  and  a  little  ridicule  had 
been  thrown  by  the  press  on  her  pretensions ; 
but  Grayburn  had  so  prepared  her  case  that 
it  was  only  necessary  for  the  proofs  to  be 
presented.  The  Glenorchies  had  withdrawn 
altogether  from  the  contest.  Within  forty- 
eight  hours  after  Griselda' s  departure  from 
Ascot,  Lady  Glenorchie  had  retired  to  her 
dower-house  in  Kent.  Within  a  week  all 
trace  of  her  residence  at  Lomond  Lodge 
had  been  removed,  and  the  place  where  Le 
bel  Ecossais  had  hung  was  significantly 
empty.  Lady  Glenorchie  would  not  remain 
where  her  right  to  rule  was  questioned. 
Neither  would  she  fight,  nor  allow  her  son 
to  fight.  For  her  such  a  course  would  lack 
dignity  and  pride. 

"A  Graham  of  Glenorchie,"  she  told  her 


GRISELDA  175 

son,  "does  not  strive  for  things  like  this. 
He  fights  for  honor,  but  not  for  honors — 
for  his  queen,  or  his  country,  or  his  own 
name,  but  not  for  titles  and  estates.  They 
come  to  him  by  self-evident  birth-right,  or 
they  do  not  come  at  all.  Let  this  young 
person  put  forth  her  extraordinary  claim. 
Let  her  prove  it  if  she  can.  In  that  case 
let  her  take  all  that  belongs  to  her.  We 
neither  need  nor  desire  anything  that  can 
be  hers.  When  she  fails,  as  I  am  convinced 
she  will,  our  rights  will  be  incontestible. " 

And  Glenorchie  agreed  with  his  mother, 
though  not  wholly  on  her  grounds.  He 
ceased  to  call  himself  Earl  of  Lomond,  and 
to  bear  the  Tulloch  arms.  Lomond  Lodge 
and  House  of  Tulloch  were  handed  back  to 
the  late  earl's  executors,  and  all  moneys 
which  had  been  paid  to  him  from  the 
Lomond  estates  were  restored.  His  lawyers 
were  instructed  to  watch  the  case  in  his 
interest  as  next-of-kin,  but  to  present  no 
counter-petition. 

In  all  this  the  young  man  felt  a  bitter 
pleasure.  Griselda  had  been  unjust  to  him; 
he  would  prove  that  he  could  be  generous  to 
her.  Her  object  had  been  to  humiliate  his 
mother  and  him,  but  he  would  show  how 


i76  GRISELDA 

cheaply  they  held  a  title  by  letting  her  take 
it  if  she  could.  Griselda  should  understand 
from  the  outset  that  he  would  grant  every- 
thing which  she  could  reasonably  claim,  and 
that  however  much  she  might  desire  the 
excitement  of  an  open  conflict  there  should 
be  no  unseemly  struggle  between  him  and 
her. 

And  yet  the  perception  of  this  attitude  on 
Glenorchie's  part  came  but  slowly  to  the 
young  girl's  mind.  During  the  months 
which  intervened  between  the  presentation 
of  her  petition  to  the  Queen,  and  the  trial  of 
her  case  at  Westminster,  Griselda  had  lived 
in  a  state  of  nervous  exaltation.  The  scene 
at  Lomond  Lodge  was  always  in  her  mind ; 
the  words  then  spoken  gained  in  intensity 
with  the  lapse  of  time.  By  dwelling  on 
them  she  lent  fire  to  their  force,  and  lost 
her  sense  of  fairness.  Her  usual  tranquil 
common-sense  gave  way  to  an  exaggerated 
bitterness.  She  felt  herself  dishonored  and 
despised  by  those  whose  esteem  and  love 
she  would  have  sacrificed  all  to  gain.  Since, 
then,  she  could  not  win  them  she  would 
crush  them ;  since  they  would  not  yield  their 
love  she  would  compel  their  hate.  From 
the  moment  when  Glenorchie  left  her  in 


GRISELDA  177 

silent  indignation,  she  never  forgot  his 
expression  of  reproach.  Into  it  she  had 
since  read  derision  and  disdain.  She 
fancied  him  now  treating  her  without 
mercy.  So  be  it ;  she  would  show  none  to 
him. 

As  time  went  on  the  mother  passed  into 
the  background  of  her  thought.  All  her 
anger  was  directed  against  the  son.  Once 
she  had  imagined  that  she  loved  him ;  now 
she  laughed  hysterically  at  the  very  mem- 
ory of  that  grotesque  mistake.  She  loved 
him,  so  she  said,  no  more  than  he  loved 
her.  Her  only  object  was  to  give  him  pain. 
If  she  could  once  know  that  he  had  suffered 
on  her  account  and  by  her  act, — suffered  as 
she  had  suffered  on  his  account  and  by  his 
act — then  she  would  be  content;  she  would 
give  her  hand  to  Grayburn  with  a  smile,  as 
the  thirsty  wanderer  who  has  had  one 
delicious  draught  of  water  is  able  to  travel 
bravely  on. 

It  was  not  until  they  again  met  face  to 
face,  before  the  lords  at  Westminster,  that 
Griselda  knew  how  foolish  all  this  fancied 
fury  was.  As  she  sat  now  gazing  at  the 
fire,  her  thoughts  went  back  to  the  incidents 
of  that  morning.  She  had  taken  her  place 


178  GRISELDA 

with  Lady  Phillida  in  the  stately  chamber 
in  the  House  of  Lords,  where  her  case  was 
to  have  its  hearing.  Her  memory  of  details 
was  indistinct.  She  had  been  too  confused 
and  nervous  to  pay  much  heed  to  surround- 
ings and  formalities.  Lady  Phillida  told 
her  that  the  attendance  of  lords  was  large, 
and  she  remembered  counting  seven,  of 
whom  she  recognized  two  or  three.  In 
addition  to  these  were  two  bishops,  and  the 
Lord  Chancellor.  She  herself  felt  like  a 
prisoner  at  the  bar,  rather  than  as  the 
claimant  to  wealth  and  dignity. 

Every  one  who  entered  looked  at  her  with 
curiosity,  and  she  recalled  now  how  she  had 
summoned  all  her  force  of  character  to  her 
aid,  how  she  had  nerved  herself  to  be  brave 
under  the  gaze  of  onlookers.  Then  she  had 
suddenly  raised  her  eyes  and  had  seen 
Nigel  enter — tall,  fair,  scrupulously  well 
dressed,  and  handsomer  than  ever.  He 
stood  for  a  moment  at  the  open  door,  evi- 
dently seeking  her.  Their  eyes  met,  and  he 
bowed,  first  to  her  and  then  to  Lady 
Phillida.  Then  coming  forward  he  seated 
himself  near  his  counsel. 

In  that  instant  of  interchanged  regards  all 
Griselda's  passion  for  revenge  had  disap- 


GRISELDA  179 

peared  like  a  lifting  mist.  She  had  seen 
him,  and  knew  henceforth  that  there  could 
be  no  more  place  in  her  heart  for  rancor  or 
retaliation.  In  his  face  there  was  a  per- 
ceptible change  which  smote  her  more 
sharply  than  any  pain  she  could  suffer  on 
her  own  account.  He  was  more  grave  than 
in  the  past,  and  a  certain  look  of  youth 
was  gone.  On  his  features  there  was  that 
unmistakable  stamp  which  some  deep 
feeling,  some  great  mental  or  spiritual 
anguish,  inevitably  leaves  behind. 

"And  this  is  my  work,"  Griselda  said  to 
herself.  "I  would  have  died  to  save  him 
from  one  hour's  pain  and  now " 

She  bent  her  head  and  struggled  to 
repress  a  rising  sob.  At  that  moment  she 
would  have  willingly  denied  all  her  claim 
to  the  Lomond  title,  would  gladly  have 
renounced  all  her  cherished  projects  of 
revenge,  would  have  buried  herself  under 
obloquy  and  scorn,  if  only  the  man  she 
loved  could  have  looked  as  when  she  had 
first  known  him,  young  and  glad,  and  in  the 
keen  enjoyment  of  his  life.  But  events  had 
progressed  too  far.  She  was  in  the  grip  of 
circumstance,  and  could  free  neither  herself 
nor  him. 


i8o  GRISELDA 

The  futile  tears  blinded  her;  the  surging 
protests  of  her  heart  against  the  part  she 
had  played  and  was  playing,  rendered  her 
unconscious  of  what  was  going  on.  She 
had  a  confused  sense  of  a  murmur  of  voices, 
and  of  uninteresting  persons,  parish  clerks 
and  country  lawyers,  called  from  an  adjoin- 
ing room,  interrogated,  and  sent  back 
again. 

Garter  King  at  Arms  and  Lyon  King  at 
Arms  presented  pedigrees  and  explained 
certificates  of  births,  baptisms,  marriages, 
and  deaths.  The  Lord  Chancellor  and  the 
Lord  Advocate  of  Scotland  asked  questions 
and  the  heralds  answered  them.  After 
what  seemed  to  Griselda  an  unnecessary  dis- 
play of  effort,  considering  the  general  knowl- 
edge of  the  fact,  it  was  established  that 
Kenneth  Stuart  Maximilian  Neil,  twenty- 
ninth  Earl  of  Lomond  was  dead  and  buried, 
having  left  the  field  free  to  his  heirs.  It 
was  also  proved  that  the  said  Earl,  by  his 
marriage  with  the  Lady  Jane  Macpherson 
had  had  one  son,  the  Honorable  Kenneth 
Stuart  Ferdinand  Neil  Tulloch,  commonly 
called  Lord  Inversnaid,  who  had  pre- 
deceased his  father,  having  been  hanged  for 
murder  in  the  State  of  Colorado,  in  the 


GRISELDA  181 

United  States  of  America.  It  was  next 
made  clear  that  the  claimant,  Griselda 
Tulloch,  had  petitioned  the  Queen,  praying 
Her  Majesty  to  be  graciously  pleased  to 
admit  her  succession  to  the  honor  and 
dignity  of  Countess  of  Lomond,  in  the 
Peerage  of  Scotland,  as  the  lawful  heir  of 
the  said  Lord  Inversnaid  by  his  marriage 
with  Griselda  Grant.  This  petition  Her 
Majesty  had  referred  to  the  House  of  Lords, 
and  the  House  of  Lords  to  its  Committee 
for  Privileges,  with  instructions  to  safeguard 
the  interests  of  the  Right  Honorable  Nigel, 
Baron  Glenorchie,  of  Glenorchie  Castle  in 
Aberdeenshire,  claiming  to  be  next-of-kin, 
after  the  direct  heirs  of  the  late  twenty- 
ninth  Earl  of  Lomond. 

All  this  had  taken  place  with  a  certain 
perfunctory  decorum  and  ceremonious 
informality.  It  was  like  a  conversation 
rather  than  a  trial,  like  a  rehearsal  rather 
than  a  play. 

Then  Griselda's  counsel  made  a  long 
speech  on  her  behalf.  As  she  listened  she 
vaguely  understood  that  a  history  of  the 
Lomond  earldom  was  being  traced  back  to 
the  almost  legendary  period  of  Scottish 
history.  Twice  already  had  the  title  passed 


i82  GRISELDA 

into  the  female  line ;  once,  in  the  sixteenth 
century  when  Margaret  Tulloch,  maid  of 
honor  to  Mary  of  Guise,  had  become  Count- 
ess of  Lomond  in  her  own  right,  and  again 
in  the  seventeenth  century  when  Janetta 
Tulloch  had  succeeded  her  grandfather  the 
anglicizing  lord,  the  friend  of  Charles  I  and 
one  of  the  founders  of  Scottish  Episco- 
palianism. 

The  principle  of  female  tenure  being  thus 
established  Griselda's  advocate  went  on  to 
state  that  if  the  twenty-ninth  Earl  of 
Lomond  had  left  any  lawful  descendant, 
male  or  female,  such  descendant  must  be 
regarded  as  heir  to  the  Earldom  as  well  as 
to  the  entailed  estates.  The  barony  of 
Inversnaid,  on  the  contrary,  which  the  late 
earl  had  also  possessed,  could  pass  only  to 
a  male  heir,  and  must  become  extinct  on  the 
accession  of  a  female.  Now  it  would  be 
shown  as  already  stated  that  the  twenty- 
ninth  earl  by  his  marriage  with  Lady  Jane 
Macpherson  had  had  an  only  child,  Lord 
Inversnaid.  It  would  also  be  shown  that 
the  said  Lord  Inversnaid  had  contracted  a 
secret  but  lawful  marriage  with  one  Griselda 
Grant,  a  maid-servant,  of  the  parish  of  Glen 
Tulloch  in  Argyllshire;  and  that  of  this 


GRISELDA  183 

marriage  there  was  legitimate  issue  in  the 
person  of  Griselda  Tulloch,  here  present, 
claiming  to  be  Countess  of  Lomond. 

Griselda  had  gone  over  all  this  ground  so 
often  that  she  scarcely  listened  to  the  state- 
ment of  her  case.  Her  attention  was  only 
roused  when  Lady  Phillida  suddenly  grasped 
her  hand  and  said, 

"Listen.  The  old  minister  is  going  to 
take  the  stand. ' ' 

It  was  Lady  Phillida  who  had  entered  with 
Grayburn  into  all  the  details  of  preparation. 
Griselda  knew  but  vaguely  what  evidence 
was  to  be  given  on  .her  behalf.  Now  she 
looked  up  and  saw  a  tall  old  man,  with 
clean  shaven  face  and  long  white  hair, 
come  forward  and  place  himself  in  view  of 
the  assembly.  He  wore  the  ordinary  dress 
of  a  Scotch  Presbyterian  minister  and 
carried  a  large  manuscript  volume. 

"My  name  is  Colin  Campbell,"  he  said, 
after  he  had  been  put  on  oath.  "I  am 
minister  of  the  parish  of  Glen  Tulloch,  and 
a  doctor  of  divinity." 

His  voice  was  clear  but  quavering,  and  he 
spoke  with  the  sharp  Highland  accent,  now 
and  then  inadvertantly  lapsing  into  dialect. 
He  held  his  book  clasped  in  both  hands 


i84  GRISELDA 

before  him  as  he  was  used  to  hold  his 
Bible  in  the  pulpit. 

"Will  you  be  good  enough,"  said  the  Lord 
Chancellor,  "to  state  what  you  know  of  the 
facts  in  the  case  now  before  this  Committee?" 

' '  I  well  remember  the  late  Lord  Lomond, ' ' 
the  old  man  went  on.  "I  was  tutor  to  his 
son  the  late  Lord  Inversnaid.  When  the 
young  lord  went  to  Harrow  his  old  lordship 
put  me  into  the  parish  of  Glen  Tulloch,  and 
rebuilt  the  manse.  The  earl  was  pleased  to 
honor  me  with  his  friendship,  and  Lord 
Inversnaid  with  his  affection.  All  through 
the  young  man's  earlier  years  I  lived  on 
terms  of  intimacy  with  them  both,  there 
being  no  persons  of  gentility  within  many 
miles." 

Griselda  listened  intently  now.  At  last 
the  veil  was  to  be  lifted ;  she  was  to  know 
something  more  than  Grayburn's  few  dry 
and  dreadful  facts,  of  that  father  and  mother 
of  whom  she  had  heard  so  little,  but  had 
dreamt  so  much. 

"I  hold  in  my  hand,"  the  minister  con- 
tinued, "my  journal  written  day  by  day 
through  all  those  years,  and  I  know  that  its 
contents  are  true.  I  have  recently  refreshed 
my  memory  as  to  the  events  then  chronicled, 


GRISELDA  185 

and  yet  it  was  but  little  necessary,  for  all, 
save  certain  details  of  conversation,  is  as 
clear  to  me  now  as  it  was  then.  You  will 
pardon  me,  I  trust,  my  lords,  if  I  seem 
diffuse,  and  you  will  correct  me,  I  beg,  if  I 
narrate  what  is  unnecessary ;  and  yet  if  I  tell 
the  tale  from  the  beginning  I  cannot  but 
think  that  the  circumstances  will  be  better 
understood. ' ' 

The  old  man  cleared  his  voice,  put  on  his 
gold-rimmed  spectacles,  looked  for  a  moment 
at  certain  pages  of  his  journal  and  began 
again. 

"When  I  became  tutor  to  Lord  Inversnaid 
he  was  but  eight  years  old.  I  was  a  young 
man  fresh  from  the  University,  and  lived 
with  my  pupil  at  House  of  Tulloch.  Lord 
Lomond  himself  resided  in  England,  seeing 
his  son  only  in  the  summer  time.  It  was 
said,  and  I  partly  believe  it,  that  my  lady 
having  died  at  the  young  lord's  birth,  Lord 
Lomond  never  loved  the  child  as  a  father 
should  love  a  son.  Certain  it  is  that  they 
lived  apart,  the  lad  growing  up  with  serv- 
ants and  such  like,  and  with  no  genteel 
companionship  but  mine.  He  was  a  pretty 
boy,  frank  and  affectionate,  but  all  the 
worst  and  wildest  qualities  of  the  headstrong 


186  GRISELDA 

race  of  Tulloch  were  in  his  blood.  From 
his  earliest  childhood  he  inclined  to  the 
precepts  of  neither  law,  gospel,  nor  Shorter 
Catechism.  In  my  charge  of  him  love  and 
correction  were  alike  in  vain.  When  he 
would  do  a  thing,  he  would  do  it ;  and  you 
could  neither  win  him  with  caresses  nor 
conquer  him  with  stripes.  He  was  not  pre- 
cisely bad;  he  was  simply  lawless.  My  five 
years  of  tutorship  were  spent  as  it  were  in 
fighting  fire;  and  yet  the  lad  was  so  win- 
some that  every  one  but  his  father  loved 
him. ' ' 

The  minister  gave  a  little  nervous  cough, 
as  though  to  hide  a  trembling  of  his  voice. 

"I  will  not  weary  your  lordships, "  he  went 
on  again,  "with  any  further  account  of  my 
pupil's  youth.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  as  he 
began  so  he  continued.  What  was  wildness 
in  boyhood  became  wickedness  in  manhood ; 
and  when  at  three  and  twenty  he  returned 
to  take  up  his  residence  at  House  of  Tulloch 
he  had  long  been  seasoned  in  sin.  He  had 
been  expelled  from  Harrow,  expelled  from 
Cambridge,  and  father  and  son  had  so  little 
in  common  that  one  roof  was  not  sufficient 
to  shelter  them.  So  he  returned  to  us  in 
Scotland,  and  I  who  loved  the  man  as  I  had 


GRISELDA  187 

loved  the  boy  did  what  I  could  to  lead  him 
into  paths  of  virtue.  But  it  was  in  vain, 
my  lords.  Other  companions  had  greater 
influence  than  mine.  Lord  Lomond  came 
no  more  to  Scotland,  and  Inversnaid  was 
master  at  House  of  Tulloch.  Hither  came 
many  young  gentlemen  of  his  own  type  and 
the  description  of  the  life  they  led  would  be 
neither  pleasant  nor  profitable  to  such  lords 
and  ladies  as  I  now  see  before  me.  I  will 
go  on  to  the  more  important  facts.  In  the 
midst  of  those  wild  and  riotous  days  I  was 
surprised  one  evening  to  receive  at  the 
Manse  a  visit  from  Inversnaid.  He  rushed 
in  upon  me  as  I  sat  writing  at  my  desk,  cry- 
ing out  in  an  excited  way:  'Oh,  dear  old 
Dominie, '  for  that  was  the  name  he  usually 
gave  me,  'I  want  you  to  marry  me. '  'Sit 
down, '  I  said  in  a  quiet  voice,  trying  to  calm 
him  by  feigning  to  be  cool  myself.  'To 
whom?'  'To  Griselda  Grant,  the  maid  at 
the  Arms,'  he  said,  meaning,  my  lords  the 
Tulloch  Arms,  our  village  inn.  'Do  you 
think  such  a  marriage  wise?'  I  asked.  'No, 
I  do  not,'  he  answered,  'but  I  cannot  get 
her  in  any  other  way. '  I  leave  your  lord- 
ships to  imagine  my  state  of  anguish.  I 
labored  with  the  young  man  till  nearly 


i88  GRISELDA 

dawn,  but  argument  only  served  to  increase 
his  determination. 

*'  *I  love  her,'  he  repeated  over  and  over 
again,  'and  if  I  cannot  marry  her  with  the 
blessing  of  the  Kirk  I  will  marry  her  Scotch 
fashion,  and  make  that  suffice.  She  will  be 
my  wife  even  so,  and  to  satisfy  the  law  is 
all  I  mind.  I  love  her  and  I  will  have  her. ' ' 

"  'But  you  loved  Jeannie  Ferguson,  and 
Annie  Campbell,  the  wheelwright's  girl, 
and  Thomas  Carmichael's  daughter,  and 
look  at  them  now,  poor  unfortunate 
creatures,  neither  maids  nor  married 
women.' 

"  'Dominie!'  he  cried  in  a  towering  rage, 
springing  from  his  seat  and  bending  over 
me,  'if  you  mention  her  again  in  connection 
with  that  company  of  wantons  I  will  kill 
you.' 

"Then  I  saw,  my  lords,  that  the  young 
man  had  respect  for  the  lassie,  and  I  dinna 
wonder  at  it  for  I  knew  her  weel." 

In  his  agitation  the  old  man  slipped  into 
the  vernacular,  but  corrected  himself  quickly. 

"All  that, "  he  continued,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  "was  many  years  ago.  But 
neither  time  nor  change  can  dim  the  memory 
of  Griselda  Grant,  in  the  minds  of  those  who 


GRISELDA  189 

have  once  looked  upon  her  face.  She  was 
such  a  maiden  as  appears  from  time  to  time 
among  our  Scottish  peasantry,  where  a  race, 
for  the  most  part  plain  of  feature,  produces 
at  long  intervals  a  type  of  extraordinary 
beauty.  Of  middle  height,  she  was  slender, 
supple,  graceful,  and  strong.  Those  are 
the  words  I  wrote  of  her  in  my  journal,  over 
twenty  years  ago.  Her  dark  eye  was  large 
and  soft,  and  seemed  always  to  appeal  for 
kindness.  Her  hair  was  brown  and  most 
abundant,  her  face  was  small  and  oval,  and 
her  mouth  a  wonder  of  beauty,  whether  in 
repose,  or  in  speaking,  or  when  in  smiling 
she  disclosed  her  small,  white,  pearl-like 
teeth.  I  have  it  all  here  in  my  journal,  my 
lords,  so  that  you  may  know  that  it  is  true. 
If  you  would  see  her  somewhat  as  she  was, 
but  less  lovely,  you  may  look  at  the  young 
lady  there,  who  sits  before  you. ' ' 

All  eyes  were  turned,  with  a  smile, 
towards  Griselda,  who,  heedless  of  remark 
and  regard  alike,  sat  gazing  at  the  old  man's 
earnest  face.  Her  whole  heart  was  absorbed 
in  this  account  of  the  mother  who  thus 
seemed  to  spring  into  life  before  her.' 

"Her  mind  was  equal  to  her  person. 
Though  the  child  of  a  simple  shepherd  she 


i9o  GRISELDA 

had  taught  herself  to  speak  and  write  with 
almost  the  same  punctilious  correctness 
which  is  common  to  the  quality.  She  was 
versed  in  Scripture,  and  trained  in  the  truest 
spirit  of  religion.  In  her  humble  station  at 
the  Tulloch  Anns  she  bore  herself  in  such  a 
way  as  to  win  the  esteem  of  homebred  com- 
panions and  the  passing  public  alike.  I  my- 
self made  many  an  unnecessary  errand  to 
the  inn  simply  that  I  might  take  occasion  to 
converse  with  her,  and  admire  the  works  of 
the  Creator  in  a  form  so  discreet  and  lovely. 
The  effect  this  maid  produced  upon  me  has 
always  been,  my  lords,  of  a  nature  wholly 
beyond  my  comprehension;  but  so  strong 
was  it,  that  when  Lord  Inversnaid  was  set  to 
marry  her  I  was  moved  on  every  ground  to 
circumvent  him." 

He  paused  again,  and  turning  the  leaves 
of  the  journal,  searched- for  a  particular  page. 

"I  have  here,"  he  continued,  "the  record 
of  the  visit  paid  by  me  on  the  following  day 
to  Griselda  Grant  herself.  I  found  her  in  a 
state  of  great  agitation,  and  as  determined 
in  her  attitude  as  Lord  Inversnaid  in  his. 

"  'I  love  him,'  she  repeated  in  answer  to 
all  my  reasonings,  'and  if  he  will  marry  me 
I  will  marry  him, ' 


GRISELDA  191 

"  'But,'  I  expostulated,  'think  of  the 
scandal  of  a  marriage  so  far  above  your 
station.' 

14  'I  know,'  she  made  answer.  'I  have 
thought  of  it,  but  I  cannot  help  myself.  I 
love  him,  sir,  so  well  that  I  am  not  strong 
enough  to  resist  him.  If  only  he  will  marry 
me  I  will  marry  him.  It  is  not  because  he 
is  a  lord ;  it  is  because  I  love  him,  and  if  he 
leaves  me  or  I  leave  him  then  my  heart  will 
break.  I  shall  not  be  able  to  live  longer. ' 

"To  this,  my  lords,  we  returned  as  the  end 
of  all  pleadings  and  all  arguments.  At  last 
she  broke  into  a  fit  of  weeping,  and  with  her 
hands  clasped  across  the  table  at  which  we 
sat,  with  the  tears  streaming  from  her  eyes, 
and  her  brown  hair  falling  like  tendrils 
about  her  face  she  besought  me  not  to  send 
him  from  her,  or  to  put  my  influence 
between  them.  So  strongly  did  she  plead, 
and  with  so  much  beauty  of  word  and  feature 
that,  as  I  grieve  to  say,  I  myself  forgot  my 
dignity  and  position  and  cried  out  (I  have 
it  written  in  my  journal)  'Oh,  Griselda,  will 
you  marry  me?'  It  was  a  moment  of  great 
weakness  I  confess,  but  had  any  of  you,  my 
lords,  beheld  her  thus  I  think  that  you 
would  have  been  moved  to  do  no  less.  But 


i92  GRISELDA 

the  lassie  was  wiser  than  I.  She  simply 
wept  and  gave  me  no  answer  at  all;  by 
which  I  saw  that  she  would  not  compromise 
my  situation  at  the  manse,  but  would  marry 
him  on  whom  her  heart  was  set. ' ' 

The  old  man's  voice  at  this  moment 
quivered  with  an  emotion  which  he  could 
not  control,  but  he  went  on  tremblingly. 

"My  moment  of  folly  was  fatal  to  us  all. 
I  could  no  longer  with  conscience  dissuade 
another  from  what  I  had  been  ready,  if  only 
for  an  instant,  to  undertake  myself.  The 
next  day  in  the  Kirk  of  Glen  Tulloch  I  myself 
blessed  and  solemnized  the  marriage  of 
Lord  Inversnaid  and  Griselda  Grant  before 
God  and  before  witnesses.  Since  then  I 
have  had  no  desire  for  matrimony  for  my- 
self. I  have  only  to  add,  my  lords,  that  if 
there  is  issue  of  this  marriage,  it  is  lawful 
issue  according  to  all  laws  of  God,  and  of 
the  realm  of  Scotland." 

Amid  a  murmur  of  sympathy  he  stopped, 
closed  his  book,  took  off  his  spectacles  and 
wiped  them  on  his  pocket  handkerchief. 
Then  Glenorchie  stepped  forward  and  taking 
the  aged  minister's  arm  led  him  from  the 
room.  Griselda  would  gladly  have  done 
the  same  had  she  dared  to  leave  her  place. 


GRISELDA  193 

As  it  was  she  could  only  consecrate  to  him 
in  silence  all  her  heart's  best  gratitude  and 
affection. 

The  register  of  the  parish  of  Glen  Tulloch 
was  next  put  in  evidence,  and  a  large  burly 
florid  gray-bearded  Scotchman  began  to 
speak. 

"My  name,"  he  said,  "is  Alexander 
Mackenzie.  I  have  been  thirty  years  inn- 
keeper at  the  Tulloch  Arms.  Lord  Invers- 
naid  was  a  frequenter  of  my  house,  where  I 
gave  employment  to  Griselda  Grant.  I  was 
present  with  my  wife  at  their  marriage  in 
the  Kirk  of  Glen  Tulloch,  the  young  lord 
having  first  sworn  us  to  secrecy.  I  swear 
that  this  is  my  signature.  I  swear  that  this 
is  the  signature  of  my  wife  Jessie  Mackenzie, 
now  dead.  I  swear  that  this,  Kenneth  Tul- 
loch, is  the  signature  of  the  late  Lord 
Inversnaid.  I  swear  that  this  is  the 
signature  of  Griselda  Grant.  I  swear  that 
this  is  the  signature  of  Colin  Campbell, 
minister  of  Glen  Tulloch.  I  swear  that  this 
is  the  signature  of  Robert  Grant,  brother  of 
Griselda  Grant.  I  swear  that  I  saw  all 
these  signatures  written  with  their  own 
hands  on  the  date  here  given,  by  the  afore- 
named persons  in  Glen  Tulloch  Kirk. ' ' 


i94  GRISELDA 

"My  name  is  Robert  Grant,"  said  the 
next  witness,  and  Griselda  could  not  repress 
a  low,  sudden,  exclamation  of  sentiment 
and  emotion.  Lady  Phillida  put  out  her 
hand,  for  the  girl  started  as  though  she 
must  rise  and  go  to  the  man  who  stood 
before  her.  Here  at  last  was  someone  of 
her  own  flesh  and  blood,  her  mother's 
brother,  between  whom  and  herself  there 
was  the  sacred  tie  of  kinship,  the  tie  which 
she  had  never  known. 

He  was  a  slight  man  of  about  fifty,  not 
tall,  but  evidently  agile.  His  clean-shaven 
face  was  regular  in  feature,  and  Griselda 
fancied  that  in  it  she  could  see  a  distinct 
resemblance  to  her  own.  The  eyes  were 
dark  and  soft  as  the  old  minister  had  de- 
scribed those  of  the  first  Griselda;  their 
expression  was  dreamy  and  distant  like 
that  of  a  man  who  lives  in  the  unseen.  He 
was  neat  and  clean,  and  in  his  Sunday 
clothes  had  a  certain  air  of  home-bred, 
peasant-like  distinction . 

"I  am  a  shepherd,"  he  continued,  "and 
live  the  noo  on  the  hills  of  Morven. 
Griselda  Grant  was  my  ain  sister.  When 
she  went  to  live  at  the  Tulloch  Arms,  I  coun- 
seled her  against  the  attentions  of  ungodly 


GRISELDA  195 

gentlemen,  of  which  as  I  knew  verra  weel 
there  were  mony  at  the  House  of  Tulloch. 
Having  neither  feyther  nor  mither  there  was 
only  me  to  warn  her,  and  help  her  shun  the 
path  that  leadeth  to  perdition.  She  was  a 
braw  lassie  and  well-dowered  with  that 
female  beauty  which  the  gude  Lord  sends 
here  and  there  as  a  trial  and  a  snare  to  men. 
Well,  my  lords  and  ladies,  she  was  no  verra 
long  at  the  Tulloch  Arms  before  word 
was  sent  me  that  wild  Inversnaid  was  daft 
aboot  her.  I  was  then  on  Glenconnell's 
estate,  in  the  further  corner  of  Argyll,  but  I 
left  all  and  went  to  find  my  erring  sister. 
'Grizzel, '  I  said  to  her, 'the  day  ye  become 
that  young  man's  victim  will  be  his  last 
on  airth.  If  ye  have  any  affection  for  him, 
flee  from  his  embrace,  for  he  shall  pay  the 
penalty  of  his  crime  in  blood.'  'Have  no 
fear,  Robert,'  she  replied  to  me,  'for  I  shall 
never  yield  to  him,  except  in  honest 
marriage.'  'There  can  be  no  honest 
marriage  between  one  of  your  degree  and 
one  of  his, '  I  said  to  her ;  whereat  she  fell  to 
crying,  and  I  left  her.  My  lords  and  ladies, 
I  had  scarce  returned  to  Glenconnell  when 
from  the  same  source  as  before — a  lassie  at 
the  Arms  whose  feyther  was  fellow-shepherd 


196  GRISELDA 

with  me — I  heard  talk  of  a  marriage  be- 
tween my  sister  and  Inversnaid.  Back  I 
hurried  to  Glen  Tulloch,  not  without  a 
weapon,  swearing  that  the  shame  of  no 
such  marrrage  should  be  on  the  head  of  my 
feyther's  child.  It  was  night-fall  when  I 
reached  the  Arms,  and  learned  that  not  an 
hour  before  my  sister  had  left  the  inn,  in 
company  with  Sandy  Mackenzie,  her 
master,  and  his  wife,  all  three  taking  the 
road  to  the  Kirk.  I  followed  arid  entered — 
only  to  find  my  sister  and  Inversnaid  already 
in  the  act  of  the  betrothal.  My  lords  and 
ladies,  if  it  hadna  been  in  the  house  of  God 
I  would  ha'  shot  the  one  and  the  other 
there  and  then.  But  I  couldna  commit 
sacrilege  as  well  as  crime ;  and  when  a'  was 
over  the  minister  turned  to  me  and  said, 
'Robert  Grant,  what  is  done  canna  be 
undone.  Give  me  yon  weapon,  and  bear 
your  troubles  like  a  man.  Remember  that 
it  might  ha*  been  far  worse,  for  noo  the 
lassie  is  at  least  a  married  woman.  Come 
into  the  vestry  and  sign  to  what  you  have 
seen. '  My  lords  and  ladies  I  followed  the 
counsel  of  the  holy  man,  and  put  aside  my 
thoughts  of  vengeance.  When  I  had  signed 
I  shook  my  sister  by  the  hand,  and  left  her 


GRISELDA  197 

with  him  whom  she  had  chosen  for  better 
and  for  worse.  I  couldna  forgive  her  all  at 
once,  but  I  trust  I  ha'  done  so  since.  I 
never  saw  her  any  more.  I  swear  that  this  is 
my  signature.  I  swear  that  the  marriage 
was  a  lawful  one." 

He  stopped  abruptly  and  then,  looking 
round  the  hall  with  great,  slow,  dreamy 
eyes,  gazed  for  a  moment  at  Griselda.  She 
too  looked  at  him,  unable  to  do  more, 
powerless  to  give  him  any  sign  of  her 
interest  and  emotion.  Then,  with  his 
shambling  shepherd's  gait,  he  left  the  room 
by  the  door  through  which  he  had  come. 

The  current  of  Griselda' s  thought  was 
however  quickly  changed,  for  a  distinct 
heightening  of  expectation  was  perceptible 
throughout  the  room  when,  a  moment  later, 
Grayburn  himself  took  the  stand.  His  air 
of  the  mature  and  experienced  man  of  the 
world,  at  once  dignified  and  deferential, 
carried  with  it  a  certain  conviction  in 
advance  of  what  he  had  to  say.  The 
spectator  had  an  involuntary  feeling  that 
the  cause  of  which  he  was  the  champion 
must  be  right.  Lady  Phillida  hastily 
pressed  Griselda' s  hand,  and  then  fixed  her 
eyes  upon  the  speaker. 


i98  GRISELDA 

In  a  deep,  melodious  voice,  with  very 
distinct  enunciation  Grayburn  told  of  his 
early  friendship  with  Inversnaid,  and  con- 
firmed all  that  had  been  said  by  the  minister 
of  Glen  Tulloch.  Over  this  he  passed 
rapidly,  and  came  to  a  date  just  subsequent 
to  his  friend's  asserted  marriage.  Here  he 
asked  permission  to  read  a  short  letter 
which  he  had  received  in  London. 

"  'Dear  Gray'  "  it  ran,  "  'I  am  in  a  devil  of 
a  mess.  I  am  married.  You  can  guess  to 
whom.  The  pater  has  thrown  me  over — 
disowned  me  in  fact.  Perhaps  I  don't  blame 
him.  I  should  not  care  so  much  if  it  were 
not  for  Griselda's  sake.  Poor  girl,  she  is 
heart-broken.  Don't  say  anything  about  all 
this,  for  as  yet  it  is  known  to  very  few. 
Can't  you  come  to  me,  and  bring  some 
money  with  you?  I  don't  know  which  way 
to  turn,  or  what  to  do.  We  -are  at  King 
James's  Lodge  up  the  burn  behind  Glen 
Ellen,  as  hints  were  given  from  headquarters 
that  we  had  better  leave  House  of  Tulloch. 
Come  to  us  for  God's  sake,  and  give  us  an 
idea  as  to  what  to  do. 

"  'Your  old  friend, 

"  'Inversnaid.'  ' 

This,  Grayburn  went  on  to  say,  was 
but  one  of  many  letters  which  he  held  in 
his  hand,  the  authenticity  of  which  could 


GRISELDA  199 

easily  be  proved.  In  all  of  them  the  fact  of 
the  marriage  was  either  mentioned  or 
assumed.  He  then  told  of  his  visit  to  King 
James's  Lodge,  where  the  result  of  their 
conferences  was  the  decision  that  all  three 
should  try  their  fortunes  in  America. 

Inversnaid  had  a  little  money  from  his 
mother,  an  inheritance  which  had  since 
passed  to  his  child,  and  become  the  founda- 
tion of  her  fortune.  Grayburn,  estranged 
from  his  own  family,  had  even  less,  but 
enough  for  present  need.  They  went  to 
New  York  and  then  drifted  towards  the 
West.  They  finally  reached  the  newly- 
founded  mining  town  of  Lost  Man  Creek, 
known  to-day  as  Millersville.  Inversnaid  and 
his  wife  traveled  first  under  the  name  of 
Tulloch,  but,  owing  to  an  unpleasant 
occurrence  in  New  York,  where  he  had 
been  recognized  and  she  subjected  to  insult- 
ing remark,  they  took,  in  going  west  the 
name  of  Grant. 

At  Lost  Man  Creek  they  decided  to  settle 
and  try  to  retrieve  their  fortunes.  The 
town  had  passed  the  first  stages  of  the 
mining-camp,  and  was  endeavoring  to 
reduce  itself  into  a  rude  state  of  law  and 
order.  Inversnaid  made  an  effort  to  work 


200  GR  IS  ELD  A 

and  to  rearrange  his  life;  Grayburn  saw 
before  them  a  possibility  of  success;  and 
the  young  wife  expecting  to  become  a 
mother  was  for  the  first  time  almost 
happy. 

Then  suddenly  their  trouble  came  upon 
them.  The  man  who  in  New  York  had 
recognized  Inversnaid  appeared  in  Lost 
Man  Creek.  He  was  a  disgraced  English 
gentleman  who  had  been  sent  to  America 
to  begin  his  life  again.  At  first  he  only 
made  himself  objectionable,  and  they 
avoided  him.  Then  he  renewed  his  insolent 
attentions  to  Griselda.  One  day  Inversnaid 
returning  home  found  his  wife  prostrated 
and  in  tears.  She  told  how  the  English- 
man had  again  insulted  her,  and  Inversnaid 
had  sworn  that  this  time  should  be  the  last. 
The  stranger  fled  towards  a  mining  camp, 
far  in  the  heart  of  the  mountains.  Invers- 
naid followed  him.  He  was  absent  three 
days.  When  he  returned  he  was  strangely 
calm  and  silent.  His  arrest  took  place  in 
the  following  week,  and  at  the  trial  he  was 
condemned  to  death.  Every  -effort  was 
made  to  secure  a  pardon,  or  at  least  a 
reprieve,  but  without  avail.  The  governor 
of  the  State  was  determined  that  the  day 


GRISELDA  201 

for  private  judgment  and  revenge  must 
cease.  The  man  called  Grant  had  hunted 
his  victim  and  tracked  him  down.  It  was 
but  one  of  many  such  lawless  acts  which 
had  lately  taken  place,  and  an  example 
must  be  made. 

"I  will  not  dwell,  my  lords,  on  those  sad 
days,"  Grayburn  went  on.  "I  will  speak 
only  of  what  it  is  necessary  should  be 
shown.  On  the  eve  of  my  poor  friend's 
death  I  was  allowed  to  visit  him  in  the 
prison.  There  I  received  his  last  wishes  and 
directions.  I  found  him  calm,  resigned, 
and  in  a  certain  sense  penitent.  That  is, 
he  regretted  his  life  from  the  very  first. 
'It  was  all  wrong,'  he  said,  'and  could  only 
finish  in  this  way.  I  am  not  sorry  that  it 
should  be  over.  I  have  been  a  miserable, 
unhappy  creature,  Gray,  through  all  my 
daring  and  bravado.  I  shall  be  glad  to  be 
under  the  sod.  My  only  regret  is  that  a 
Tulloch  should  come  to  his  end  like  this.' 
Then  he  said  to  me — and,  my  lords,  you  can 
understand  that  every  word  spoken  at  such 
a  moment  has  remained  in  my  memory  as 
though  printed  in  letters  of  fire — he  said 
to  me,  taking  my  hand:  'We  have  been 
dear  friends,  Gray,  if  not  precisely  wise 


202  GRISELDA 

ones.  I  have  nothing  to  leave  you  but  the 
care  of  Griselda  and  the  child  when  it 
comes.  Here  is  my  will.  The  little  fortune 
which  came  to  me  from  my  mother  I  leave 
to  my  wife  and  after  her  to  the  baby.  The 
wording  of  the  will  is  evidence  in  itself  that 
I  acknowledge  them  both  as  mine  by  blood 
and  law  alike.  See  that  the  testament  is 
carried  out.  Do  what  you  can  with  my 
father.  He  may  soften  a  bit  when  he 
knows  that  I  am  gone.  I  won't  give  you 
any  more  directions.  I  know  you  will  act 
for  the  best.  I  ask  you  only  as  my  dying 
wish  to  see  that  my  wife  and  child  are  put 
into  the  place  which  belongs  to  them.' 
Then,  my  lords,  the  warder  came  and  I  had 
to  go.  Inversnaid  threw  himself  into  my 
arms  and  kissed  me  many  times,  as  though 
we  had  been  two  children.  When  at  the 
door  I  looked  back  at  him  he  stood  smiling 
to  the  last ;  but  before  the  key  turned  in  the 
lock  behind  me  I  heard  his  despairing  and 
heart-breaking  sobs. ' ' 

There  were  other  sobs  at  that  moment,  for 
Lady  Phillida  was  weeping,  and  throughout 
the  hall  there  was  a  sympathetic  sense  of 
sorrow  for  the  ruined  life  which  might  have 
been  so  fair.  Grayburn  himself,  upheld  by 


GRISELDA  203 

his  iron  nerve,  seemed  less  moved  than  any 
one  and  went  calmly  on. 

As  for  Griselda  she  could  bear  no  more. 
As  Grayburn  told  in  his  clear  and  quiet  way 
the  story  of  her  own  birth,  of  her  mother's 
death,  of  his  repeated  letters  to  Lord  Lomond 
which  met  with  no  response,  of  his  deter- 
mination to  bring  up  the  child  himself,  of 
the  pains  he  had  been  at  during  the  last 
twenty  years  to  collect  all  possible  proofs 
of  her  lawful  and  honorable  birth,  of  his 
delay  in  putting  forth  her  claim  through  his 
absence  at  a  distant  mining  camp  and  con- 
sequent ignorance  of  Lord  Lomond's  death 
— as  he  told  all  this  with  calmness,  exact- 
ness, and  an  air  of  scrupulous  truth  and 
conviction,  Griselda  no  longer  heard.  Mind 
and  spirit  had  had  for  the  moment  all  they 
could  endure.  Little  by  little  she  bent 
towards  Lady  Phillida,  and  soon  sank 
altogether  into  those  sisterly,  motherly 
arms.  For  the  second  time  in  her  young 
and  healthy  life  the  veil  of  an  enveloping 
night  seemed  to  have  come  down  over  all 
her  senses,  and  there  was  a  moment's 
absolute  repose. 

Of  all  that  followed  the  girl  had  no 
further  recollection.  As  she  now  sat 


204  GRISELDA 

brooding  by  the  fire  only  these  few  faces 
stood  out  against  a  background  of  troubled 
memories.  Only  these  few  voices  sounded 
amid  the  utterances  of  a  confused  and  haunt- 
ing dream.  She  had  been  ill,  for  some  days 
afterwards,  and  when  she  was  able  to  travel 
she  had  left  London.  Then  she  had  waited, 
and  rested,  almost  indifferent  as  to  the 
result.  Her  tired  mind  seemed  to  have 
grown  apathetic,  her  heart  insensible.  Lady 
Phillida  surrounded  her  with  love  and  care, 
Grayburu  was  unobtrusively  attentive.  She 
herself,  while  physically  well  was  in  a  state 
of  nervous  convalescence — listless,  languid, 
unable  to  think  or  to  care,  finding  a  certain 
satisfaction  in  material  well-being,  but  other- 
wise without  much  emotion  of  either  expec- 
tation or  regret. 

And  now  that  she  felt  stronger,  now  that 
the  vigor  of  her  nature  had  asserted  itself 
again,  all  came  back  to  her  once  more.  As 
her  eye  fell  upon  the  paper  in  her  hands  she 
remembered  who  and  what  she  was.  She 
was  a  great  lady,  head  of  an  ancient  race, 
and  mistress  of  large  lands.  Honors  had 
come  to  her  not  by  marriage  as  to  most 
other  women,  but  by  right  of  blood  and 
birth;  she  had  youth,  beauty,  wit,  wealth, 


GRISELDA  205 

and  whatever  else  makes  for  happiness. 
But  that  was  not  all.  She  was  supremely 
the  child  of  sorrow,  born  at  a  moment 
when  her  father's  soul,  stricken  by 
shame,  was  fleeing  to  the  mercy  of  its 
Maker.  She  had  been  cradled  with- 
out tenderness,  nursed  without  pity,  and 
brought  up  without  love.  In  all  this  she 
had  never  for  a  moment  had  a  thought  of 
rebellion  or  complaint.  She  had  been  brave 
and  patient,  and  had  waited  with  girlish 
hope  for  the  moment  when  love  and  honor 
would  offer  her  whatever  good  this  world 
had  to  give.  That  day  had  come.  The 
patent  of  honor  was  in  her  hands ;  the  proof 
of  love  in  heart. 

But  under  the  circumstances  the  irony  of 
life  seemed  needlessly  severe.  As  Griselda 
thought  of  it  large  tears  of  self-pity — tears 
like  those  of  a  lonely,  sobbing  child — rolled 
down  her  cheeks  and  fell  in  great,  salt  drops 
upon  the  document  in  which  her  earthly 
dignities  were  attested  by  the  Queen's  own 
hand. 


XII 

"May  I  come  in?" 

There  was  a  light  tap  at  the  door,  and 
Lady  Phfllida  entered  without  waiting  for 
a  response.  Her  dress  was  soft  and  trailing 
like  Griselda's,  and  with  the  smile  of  morn- 
ing greeting  on  her  lips,  and  her  gray  eyes 
large  and  soft  and  bright  like  those  of  a 
woman  who  has  found  new  joy  in  life,  she 
seemed  to  Griselda  even  younger  than  when 
they  had  first  met,  now  nearly  a  year  ago. 

She  leaned  over  the  back  of  the  girl's 
chair  and  kissed  her  lightly  on  the  fore- 
head. 

"Good  morning,  dear,"  she  said  briskly, 
going  towards  the  fire  and  holding  out  her 
small,  cold  hands  to  the  warmth.  "I  should 
have  been  in  before  only  that  I  had  to  order 
dinner.  Mr.  Grayburn  is  coming  and  I've 
been  wondering  whether  we  ought  to  ask 
some  one  else  or  keep  him  all  to  ourselves. " 

Griselda  said  nothing.  With  eyes  in  which 
the  tears  were  still  shining  she  looked  up 
at  Lady  Phillida  and  wondered  how  a 
206 


GRISELDA  207 

woman  who  had  lost  the  man  she  devotedly 
loved  could,  years  afterwards,  still  keep  the 
fresh  pink  bloom  upon  her  cheek,  and  go  on 
caring  for  dress  and  dinners,  as  though  there 
were  anything  left  to  live  for. 

"It  will  be  dull  for  you  with  only  us  two 
old  folks,"  Lady  Phillida  went  on  without 
turning  round,  and  with  hands  still  out- 
stretched towards  the  cheerful  flame.  "Sup- 
pose we  were  to  ask  that  young  Mannering 
— you  liked  him — or  Major  Dromhead?" 

"Oh,  not  for  me,"  Griselda  gasped. 

"Then  who,  dear?  Tredegar  is  in  town, 
and  may  be  doing  nothing ' ' 

"No  one,  please,  please,  Lady  Phillida," 
the  girl  cried  with  a  sob.  "I  couldn't 
endure  it  indeed.  I  couldn't  talk " 

Lady  Phillida  turned  round  and  looked  at 
her  slowly  and  critically. 

"You've  been  crying,"  she  said.  "And 
you  haven't  eaten  your  breakfast." 

Then  her  eye  fell  on  the  paper  with  its 
bright  red  seals.  She  looked  at  it  for  a 
moment  without  speaking;  and  then,  with 
awe-stricken  interrogation  on  every  feature, 
she  bent  to  look  into  the  girl's  face. 

"Griselda!"  she  whispered,  pointing  at  the 
document.  * '  Is  it ? ' ' 


2o8  GRISELDA 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  sobbing  again,  and 
with  the  tears  coursing  down  her  cheeks. 

Lady  Phillida  took  the  sheet  and  slowly 
read  the  few  formal  sentences.  Then  she 
threw  herself  on  her  knees  and  clasped 
Griselda  in  her  arms. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear!"  she  cried. 
"What  can  I  say  to  you?  I  was  sure  it 
would  come.  They  couldn't  have  decided 
otherwise.  And  yet  I  scarcely  dared  hope. 
What  joy !  What  news  for  Mr.  Grayburn !  • 
We  must  wire  him  to  come  at  once. ' ' 

"He  is  coming,"  Griselda  sobbed.  "He 
said  so  last  night. ' ' 

"So  much  the  better." 

The  two  women  kissed  each  other  and 
Griselda  went  on  weeping,  her  head  on  her 
friend's  shoulder. 

"Stop  crying,"  Lady  Phillida  cried,  at 
length,  springing  to  her  feet,  and  begin- 
ning to  move  excitedly  about  the  little  room. 
"Stop  crying,  and  tell  me  if  I  look  well 
enough  to  receive  Mr.  Grayburn  on  such  a 
joyful  occasion,  in  this  old  thing,  or  ought 
I  to  put  on  the  new  gray.  No,  on  second 
thoughts  I  won't.  I  will  leave  the  honors 
to  you  to-day,  and  in  the  gray  I  might  out- 
shine you.  Griselda,"  she  cried,  seizing  the 


GRISELDA  209 

girl's  head  between  her  hands,  and  turning 
the  dark,  tear-bedimmed  eyes  upward 
towards  her  own,  "do  you  realize  that  it  is 
all  over,  that  we  have  won?  I  don't,  I  can't; 
at  least  not  yet.  I  wish  Mr.  Grayburn 
would  come.  I  think  I  hear  a  hansom. " 

She  hurried  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

"No,"  she  continued,  "it  isn't  at  our 
door."  Then,  coming  back  to  the  fire  and 
throwing  out  her  arms  with  a  French-like 
gesture,  "Griselda,  my  dear  Griselda,  just 
think  of  what  you  are.  You  don't  take  it 
in.  We  cannot  yet.  A  countess  in  your 
own  right — the  only  one  in  the  Three 
Kingdoms  since  old  Lady  Ayrshire  died.  It 
is  better  than  being  a  duchess,  than  being  a 
princess  even.  A  man-peer  is  common- 
place; so  is  a  man-peer's  wife.  But  a 
woman-peer  is  everything  that  is  pictur- 
esque. Even  an  old  witch  of  a  woman  like 
Lady  Ayrshire  had  round  her  a  certain  halo 
easily  visible  to  the  eye  of  faith;  but  when 
it  is  you,  with  your  looks  and  air  and  money 
— oh,  what  a  chance,  what  luck,  what  a 
position !  You  will  sign  your  name  Lomond, 
you  know,  just  like  a  man." 

"I  don't  mean  to  take  the  title," 
Griselda  said  weakly,  drying  her  eyes.  "I 


2io  GRISELDA 

hate  it.  I  shall  call  myself  Griselda  Grant 
as  before." 

"Nonsense,  my  dear,"  Lady  Phillida 
said,  heartily,  "you  won't  do  anything  of 
,the  sort.  It  wouldn't  be  legal.  It  wouldn't 
be  allowed." 

"I  can't  call  myself  by  the  name  of  which 
I  have  robbed  another. ' ' 

"Oh,  you  are  thinking  of  him,  are  you?" 

"I  can't  help  it." 

"Naturally,  dear,  you  are  sorry  for  him 
now,  though  that  has  not  seemed  to  me 
your  mental  attitude  during  the  last  six 
months.  Still  you  can  afford  to  be  generous 
to  a  vanquished  rival,  especially  out  of  such 
abundance  as  yours. ' ' 

"I  am  more  than  sorry." 

"So  am  I.  Dear  Lady  Glenorchie  has 
been  very  disagreeable  towards  me  ever 
since  our  little  declaration  of  hostilities  at 
Ascot.  I  don't  suppose  we  shall  ever  be 
friends  again.  I  don't  see  how  we  can  be. 
But  I  bear  her  no  malice,  I  assure  you.  I 
couldn't  if  I  would,  now  that  your  success 
has  so  amply  avenged  us.  If  I  dared  I 
should  go  to  Tunbridge  Wells  and  pay  her 
a  visit  of  condolence.  Yes,  I  can  truthfully 
say  as  you  do  that  I  am  more  than  sorry  for 


GRIvSELDA  211 

them  both;  but  we  mustn't  let  our  sym- 
pathy lead  us  into  anything  absurd,  as  it 
would,  my  dear,  if  you  didn't  bear  your 
title." 

"How  can  I  bear  it,"  the  girl  cried  almost 
fiercely,  "when  he  has  had  to  give  it  up? 
In  my  mind  it  can  never  be  anything  but 
his.  If  I  were  to  take  all  that  this  paper  gives 
me  I  should  feel  that  I  were  calling  myself 
by  his  name  and  spending  his  money  and 

living  in  his  house  without  being  mar 

Oh,  I  couldn't,  Lady  Phillida,  I  couldn't,  I 
couldn't.  I  shall  go  back  to  America. 
When  I  am  dead  there  will  be  nobody  to 
stand  any  longer  between  all  this  and  him. 
No,  no,  I  can't  do  that  either.  I  forgot. 
I'm  hemmed  in." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  only  Lady 
Phillida's  quick  hand  saved  the  fatal  docu- 
ment from  falling  into  the  fire.  The  girl 
began  to  pace  nervously  up  and  down  the 
little  room,  according  to  her  habit  when 
overwrought  or  excited.  The  older  woman 
looked  at  her  curiously,  a  new  idea  of  the 
situation  dawning  in  her  mind. 

"I  have  been  a  fool,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"I  should  have  understood  this  long  ago. 
I  thought  I  had  some  knowledge  of  human 


212  GRISELDA 

nature,  but  there  is  always  something  left 
to  learn." 

"My  dear  child,"  she  said  aloud,  "you 
want  your  breakfast.  You  will  feel  better 
when  you  have  eaten  something." 

"I  can't  eat,"  Griselda  said  impatiently, 
turning  on  her  steps  like  a  captive  animal 
in  a  cage. 

"The  coffee  is  stone  cold,"  Lady  Phillida 
said,  tapping  the  coffee-pot,  "so  is  the 
toast,  so  is  the  egg.  I  will  get  you 
something  hot.  It  will  never  do  for  Mr. 
Grayburn  to  find  you  like  this.  He  will 
think  me  a  very  incompetent  mother  to  his 
child." 

When  she  left  the  room  Griselda  con- 
tinued her  walk,  making  no  further  effort 
to  conceal  her  emotion,  beating  her  hands 
against  her  sides,  and  moaning  softly  as  if  in 
physical  pain.  Presently  Lady  Phillida 
returned  bearing  the  tray  which  she  herself 
had  arranged.  Silver,  china,  and  linen  were 
all  exquisite  and  inviting;  and  the  kind 
woman  affectionately  forced  Griselda  to  sit 
down  and  eat. 

"Now,  tell  me  the  truth,"  Lady  Phillida 
said,  seating  herself  opposite  Griselda  who 
tried  to  sip  her  coffee,  "tell  me  the  truth. 


GRISELDA  213 

Why  are  you  so  unhappy?  There  is  no 
need  to  hide  anything  from  me." 

"I  don't  think  I  can  talk  of  it,  dear  Lady 
Phillida." 

"You  must  talk  of  it.  It  will  do  you 
good." 

"There  is  so  much.  There  are  so  many 
things." 

"Then  we  will  take  them  one  by  one." 

"They  are  too  involved  and  entangled." 

"Then  we  will  unravel  them." 

"And  besides  you  couldn't  help  me.  No 
one  can  help  me." 

"I  could  advise,  perhaps." 

"There  is  no  advice  that  can  be  given  me, 
and  none  that  I  could  take. ' ' 

"Then  I  might  comfort  you." 

"Not  yet.  Later,  perhaps,  but  I  am  not 
ready  for  comfort  yet." 

Griselda  had  regained  something  of  her 
composure  and  spoke  in  her  usual  decisive 
and  incisive  way. 

"I  am  not  patient  of  mysteries,"  Lady 
Phillida  said,  after  a  moment's  reflection. 
"Some  people  like  their  atmosphere,  and 
perhaps  you  are  one,  Griselda  dear.  For 
my  part  I  live  in  the  clear  and  open  and  I 
think  it  the  only  healthy  air  to  breathe." 


2i4  GRISELDA 

' '  I  am  not  concealing  anything  from  you, ' ' 
Griselda  said  gently.  "But  my  troubles  are 
of  the  kind  which  no  one  can  help  me  to 
bear." 

"They  are  troubles  which  spring  largely 
from  remorse?  Isn't  that  true?" 

"Yes,"  Griselda  assented,  looking  into 
the  depths  of  her  coffee  cup  as  though  into 
the  lake  of  black  despair. 

"Of  remorse  towards  poor  Nigel?"  Lady 
Phillida  went  on. 

"Yes,"  Griselda  said  again. 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  asking  impertinent 
questions  at  the  proper  time,"  Lady  Phillida 
continued.  "In  what  you  feel  at  this 
moment  remorse  is  only  one  element?" 

Griselda  flushed  but  did  not  reply. 

"You  are  a  clever  actress,"  Lady  Phillida 
said,  smiling.  "I  thought  that  was  all  over 
and  gone.  You  really  had  made  me  believe 
that  you  were  mistaken  in  thinking  that 
you  cared " 

"I  wish  I  had  been." 

"Dear  child,"  the  older  woman  said  with 
affection  beaming  in  her  eyes,  "how  wrong 
you  are  not  to  talk  to  me  frankly !  I  have 
been  through  all  this  so  often  with  other 
girls.  There  is  an  old  saying  that  love  will 


GRISELDA  215 

find  the  way.  It  is  like  water;  you  may 
turn  it  from  its  channel,  or  you  may  dam  it 
up;  but  it  forces  its  passage  just  the  same. 
Love  is  the  most  irrepressible  power  on 
earth.  It  bends  circumstances  to  its  will, 
and  turned  from  its  object  in  one  way,  will 
get  to  it  by  another.  As  Sainte  Beuve  says, 
'L' 'amour  est  un  grand  recommenceur,' 
which  is  true  in  a  great  many  senses.  It 
gives  persistence  and  perseverance  to  the 
most  easily  discouraged,  and  as  long  as  it 
exists  the  very  weakest  of  us  is  brave.  I 
said  that  it  was  like  water,  but  it  is  also  like 
fire,  in  that  when  you  think  it  smothered  it 
is  only  smouldering,  and  that  at  the  very 
moment  when  it  seems  extinguished  in  your 
heart  it  bursts  out  into  a  sudden  flame. 
Griselda  dear,  I  know  all  about  it.  There 
are  none  of  its  moods  from  joy  to  jealousy 
that  I  have  not  lived  through.  Trust  me. 
Tell  me.  Let  me  be  your  mother,  your  sis- 
ter, your  woman-friend,  anything  that  one 
sympathetic  understanding  heart  can  be  to 
another.  Tell  me  all  about  it.  You  can  tell 
me  anything.  If  it  were  strange  it  wouldn't 
surprise  me,  if  it  were  sin  it  would  not  shock 
me — coming  from  you.  Only  don't  shut  me 
out  from  what  is  most  essentially  your 


2i6  GRISELDA 

life,  because — because  I  care  for  you  so 
much,  and  through  you  my  life  has  in 
more  ways  than  one  begun  to  be  glad 
again." 

Griselda,  as  Lady  Phillida  spoke,  looked 
into  the  gray  eyes  out  of  which  all  the  hard- 
ness so  often  there  was  gone,  while  in  its 
place  a  strange  new  light  was  shining — 
steady,  strong,  and  tender,  like  the  light 
of  love  for  some  one  who  is  more  than 
friend. 

"Yes,  I  will  tell  you,"  Griselda  said, 
speaking  firmly,  with  a  touch  of  hardness  in 
her  tone.  "You  will  despise  me,  but  I  will 
tell  you  everything.  I  will  keep  nothing 
back.  I  love  one  man  as  I  am  capable  of 
loving.  You  know  whom.  I  love  him  in 
such  a  way  as  to  have  no  thought  left  but 
for  him — no  heart  left  but  for  him — no  life 
left  but  for  him.  This  is  not  exaggeration. 
This  is  truth.  I  have  given  him  all  I  have 
and  am — all  for  which  my  being  has  capac- 
ity. This  for  one  man.  And  I  am  going 
soon,  to-morrow  perhaps,  to-day  for  aught  I 
know,  to  marry  another.  There;  I  have 
told  you.  Is  it  enough?" 
'Already?" 

The  word,   spoken  softly  in  a  whisper  of 


GRISELDA  217 

astonishment,  escaped  from  Lady  Phillida 
as  it  had  from  Glenorchie  six  months 
ago. 

"Already,"  Griselda  said,  in  the  same 
hard  tone. 

"Who  is  it,"  Lady  Phillida  asked,  her 
wondering  eyes  fixed  upon  Griselda's. 

"Mr.  Gray  burn, "  said  the  footman,  throw- 
ing the  door  open. 

They  could  hear  the  new-comer  taking  off 
his  overcoat  in  the  hall  below. 

"Who  is  it?"  Lady  Phillida  whispered 
again  when  the  servant  had  withdrawn. 

"He  is  coming, "  Griselda  whispered  back. 
"He  is  on  the  stairs.  I  am  going  to  marry 
him. ' ' 

They  were  looking  hard  each  at  the  other. 
As  Griselda  spoke  she  saw  the  color  fade 
from  Lady  Phillida' s  cheek  like  the  after- 
glow from  a  peak  of  snow.  The  face  which 
an  instant  ago  was  young  and  bright  became 
suddenly  haggard  and  blanched,  while  the 
light  in  the  eyes  went  out.  With  the  flash 
of  instinctive  perception  Griselda  knew  the 
reason  why. 

It  seemed  an  eternity  that  they  sat  gazing 
thus,  leaning  across  the  table  towards  each 
other,  white  and  wide-eyed  with  horror, 


218  GRISELDA 

while  the  man's  footstep  resounded  on  the 
stair. 

"No,  no,  no,"  Griselda  whispered.  "It 
can't  be  that.  Say  it  is  not  that. " 

Lady  Phillida  nodded  her  confession. 

"It  is  that,"  she  said  aloud,  with  a  gesture 
indicative  of  fatalistic  acceptance  of  the 
fact.  "It  is  that.  Why  should  I  say  no?" 

Making  such  an  effort  as  is  possible  only 
to  the  experienced  woman  of  the  world, 
Lady  Phillida  braced  herself,  rose,  and  with 
a  smile  upon  her  ashen  lips  went  forward, 
hand  outstretched,  to  greet  Grayburn  at  the 
door. 


XIII 

As  she  crossed  the  room  Lady  Phillida 
had  a  distinct  recollection  of  the  moment 
when,  fifteen  years  before,  the  physician  had 
told  her  that  her  husband  could  not  live. 
She  had  the  same  sense  now  of  being 
stunned  by  the  unexpected,  of  being  unable 
to  think  or  to  understand.  And  yet  the 
greater  circumstance  was  for  the  moment 
hidden  by  the  less. 

"I  must  get  through  these  few  minutes 
somehow,"  she  told  herself.  "Then  I  can 
let  it  all  come  upon  me  later." 

So  she  smiled,  and  taking  Grayburn's 
hand,  said  with  an  exaggerated  gaiety: 

"See,  the  conquering  hero  comes!  We 
have  been  like  the  mother  of  Sisera  for  at 
i  least  half  an  hour. ' ' 

"Is  that  why  you  are  so  pale?"  he  asked, 
holding  her  hand  and  looking  at  her  almost 
anxiously. 

"Hope  deferred  always  maketh  the  heart 
sick,"  she  replied.      "But  we  have  reason 
to  be  pale.     Just  look  at  Griselda. " 
219 


220  GRISELDA 

The  girl  had  risen,  and  was  standing  by 
the  table,  white-faced,  white-robed,  her  left 
hand  clasping  mechanically  the  rolled  paper 
to  her  breast,  and  her  large  dark  eyes  dilat- 
ing. As  Grayburn  entered  she  felt  that  she 
was  face  to  face  with  fate. 

He  advanced  and  kissed  her  tenderly  on 
the  forehead,  taking  the  document  from  her 
hand. 

4 '  You  too  are  pale, ' '  he  said.  ' '  But  I  know 
why.  It  isn't  strange.  Things  like  this 
don't  come  every  day." 

"You  know?"  Griselda  asked. 

"Yes.  Little  Tredegar,  of  the  Home 
Office,  told  me  it  had  been  sent  to  Windsor 
for  the  Queen's  signature.  He  said  it 
would  probably  come  to-day.  Let  us  look 
at  it." 

Lady  Phillida  watched  him  as  he  read, 
noting  his  coolness,  simplicity,  and  lack  of 
undue  elation. 

"He  is  a  man!"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she 
had  said  a  hundred  times  during  the  last  six 
months,  but  now  with  a  sudden  anguished 
throbbing  in  her  heart. 

"I  am  going  to  ring  for  Ellis  to  take  away 
the  breakfast-tray,"  she  said  cheerfully,  as 
Grayburn  laid  the  document  down.  "Then 


GRISELDA  221 

I  will  leave  you  young  people  to  your  vari- 
ous felicities." 

"You  won't  join  in  our  hymn  of  victory?" 
Grayburn  asked,  as  she  touched  the  electric 
button. 

"Not  now,"  she  answered,  laughing,  and 
going  towards  the  door.  "But  to-night  at 
eight  we  shall  expect  you  to  a  feast  of  fat 
things  full  of  marrow  and  wines  on  the  lees, 
worthy  of  the  day  when  the  king  comes  to 
his  own.  Au  revoir  till  then. " 

"If  not  before,"  Grayburn  called  after  her 
as  she  went  down  the  stairs. 

Griselda  re  -  seated  herself.  Grayburn 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  is  at  home. 

"We  really  owe  all  to  her,"  he  said,  when 
Ellis  had  taken  away  the  tray  and  closed  the 
door.  "If  that  is  saying  too  much  we  at 
least  owe  more  to  her  than  to  any  one  out- 
side ourselves.  What  a  creature  she  is!  I 
have  always  had  the  highest  possible  ideal 
of  what  a  woman  could  be,  and  she  comes 
up  to  it." 

"Why  don't  you  marry  her,  then?" 
Griselda  thought.  "If  I  were  to  work  for 
that?  It  would  be  happiness  to  her,  and 
what  a  release  for  me|" 


222  GRISELDA 

But  at  the  last  idea  her  sense  of  honesty 
revolted. 

"No,"  she  went  on  to  herself,  "it  would 
be  disloyal.  I  should  be  striving  not  for  her 
good  but  my  own.  It  would  be  like  buying 
a  thing  and  then  trying  to  shuffle  out  of  pay- 
ment. I  told  him  I  would  not  shrink  from 
the  price,  and  I  must  keep  my  word.  He 
has  been  faithful  to  his  part  of  the  contract, 
and  I  must  be  so  to  mine. ' ' 

"In  a  case  like  ours,"  Grayburn  contin- 
ued, "it  isn't  enough  to  have  the  law  only  on 
your  side;  you  must  have  the  prophets  as 
well.  Lady  Phillida  stood  for  them.  How 
she  worked  for  us  among  her  numberless 
relations!  Without  her  we  should  have 
seemed  like  interlopers  and  newly  -  rich 
nobodies.  The  sympathy  would  have  been 
all  for  the  Glenorchie  faction,  whose  posses- 
sion would  have  given  them  not  only  nine 
points  of  the  law,  but  ninety-nine  points  of 
public  opinion.  Lady  Phillida  turned  that 
tide  for  us.  Even  though  she  didn't  quite 
believe  in  us  at  first  she  stood  by  us  like  a 
hero,  and  was  ready  to  fight  for  friendship 
when  she  couldn't  fight  for  faith.  And  so 
to-day,  instead  of  being  in  the  public  eye 
like  Richard  III.,  dethroning  the  rightful 


GRISELDA  223 

king,  we  are  like  Charles  II.,  brought  home 
again.  It  is  in  all  the  morning  papers.  Our 
progress  is  regarded  not  as  an  usurpation 
but  a  restoration ;  and  we  owe  that  point  of 
view  to  Lady  Phillida.  Oh,  I  have  no  illu- 
sions on  that  subject !  I  know  that  Uncle 
Perthshire  and  Brother  Hull  haven't  sided 
with  us  for  our  beauty.  They  haven't 
invited  you  to  their  castles  and  put  me  up  at 
inaccessible  clubs  because  we  are  their  long- 
lost  affinities.  There  has  been  method  even 
in  their  sanity.  If  it  is  too  late  for  Uncle 
Perthshire  and  Brother  Hull  to  marry  for 
money  they  like  to  go  where  money  is.  And 
the  money  is  here,  dear  Lady  Lomond,  in 
your  pocket  and  mine." 

Griselda  flushed  to  hear  herself  called  by 
the  name.  Once  she  had  dreamed  of  bear- 
ing it  as  Nigel's  wife.  It  seemed  impossible 
that  it  should  be  hers  otherwise. 

"How  does  it  feel  to  be  called  by  a  high- 
sounding  title?  I  merely  bring  it  in  inci- 
dentally, Lady  Lomond,  in  order  that  you 
may  get  used  to  it.  But,  as  I  was  saying, 
we  have  practically  bought  the  Duke  of 
Perthshire  and  the  Earl  of  Hull  and  most  of 
our  other  devoted  adherents,  not  by  check 
nor  by  money  down,  but  by  the  mere  sight 


224  GRISELDA 

and  scent  of  gold.  That  is  all  right.  I 
don't  blame  them,  and  I  don't  care.  Uncle 
Perthshire  and  Brother  Hull  are  only  rungs 
on  the  ladder  by  which  you  and  I  are  going 
to  mount  right  up  to  the  top  of  European 
and  American  life." 

Griselda,  on  whose  face  the  sudden  flush 
had  died  away,  made  an  impatient  gesture 
and  tried  to  speak,  but  Grayburn  stopped 
her. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  "I  know  you  don't 
care  for  all  that,  but  I  do.  Our  lives  have 
been  so  different.  You  don't  know  anything 
of  the  stress  and  the  fever  and  the  purpose 
to  succeed  that  I've  had  to  live  in.  You've 
been  like  a  flower  sheltered  and  fed  with 
sunshine  that  has  had  nothing  to  do  but 
await  its  time  for  blooming.  Oh,  you've  had 
no  doubt  your  days  of  wind  and  rain,  about 
which  I  know  nothing,  but  your  life  on  the 
whole  has  been  that  of  a  flower  in  fine 
weather.  Mine  has  been  like  a  volcano, 
quiescent  during  long  years,  so  that  people 
have  called  it  extinct,  but  always  burning 
within,  furiously  gathering  force,  and  adding 
fire  to  fire  till  now  it  is  ready  to  burst  forth 
and  make  a  blaze  and  a  noise  in  the  world. ' ' 

"What  do  you  want  to  do?"  Griselda  asked 


GRISELDA  225 

coldly,  and  with  a  lack  of  sympathy  to  which 
Grayburn  paid  no  attention.  All  this 
ardent,  and,  to  her  serious  mind,  unworthy 
ambition,  was  new  and  painful  on  the  part 
of  the  simple,  resolute  man,  who  had  always 
seemed  old  and  passionless  to  her,  and 
whom  she  had  revered. 

"What  am  I  going  to  do?  I  don't  know. 
So  much  is  possible  that  I  have  only  marked 
out  the  first  few  steps,  but  I  will  indicate 
them  if  your  ladyship  will  give  me  your 
attention." 

Grayburn  laughed  as  he  saw  Griselda  flush 
again,  and  drawing  a  small  chair  to  him 
sat  down  astride  on  it,  close  beside  her. 

"Look  at  me,  Griselda,"  he  began,  "look 
at  me  well.  I  have  iron-gray  hair  and  an 
iron-gray  beard  and  moustache.  There  are 
wrinkles  round  my  eyes  and  my  face  shows 
the  signs  of  exposure  to  much  bad  weather, 
and  more  hard  work.  I  don't  wonder  that 
you  always  think  of  me  as  a  veritable  and 
venerable  patriarch.  And  yet  I  am  com- 
paratively young.  I  am  forty-seven.  I 
was  twenty-six  the  year  that  you  were 
born." 

"That  seems  old  to  me,"  Griselda  said, 
with  the  unconscious  cruelty  of  youth. 


226  GRISELDA 

"You  were  older  when  I  was  born  than  I 
am  now." 

"But  I  am  not  old,"  Gray  burn  insisted 
smilingly.  "And  yet  I  have  accomplished 
much.  At  an  age  when  most  men  are  still 
sowing  the  seed  of  life  I  have  only  to  put 
out  my  hand  and  pluck  its  fruit.  A  news- 
paper man  would  say  that  I  had  every  pros- 
pect of  a  brilliant  future  before  me ;  and  I 
mean  to  have  it.  You  ask  me  how ;  and  as 
yet  I  can't  precisely  tell  you;  not  because 
the  way  is  obscure,  but  because  there  are  so 
many  ways  that  I  hesitate  between  them. 
After  twenty  years  of  repression  and  starva- 
tion with  regard  to  everything  beautiful  and 
great,  I  want  to  open  my  arms  to  all  that 
civilization  can  offer  and  money  can  buy  and 
splendid  position  can  command.  I  am  not 
the  grave  and  hoary  heavy  father  which 
your  childish,  affectionate  fancy  conjured 
up.  I  am  only  a  starved  man  with  a  huge 
appetite  for  life,  and  a  fiery  craving  for  all 
that  it  can  give  me  to  enjoy " 

"Except  love,"  Griselda  could  not  resist 
saying. 

"Oh,  love,  love!"  Grayburn  laughed  with 
a  wide  gesture  of  the  hand  and  arm.  "Love 
is  always  a  woman's  song;  but  if  that  had 


GRISELDA  227 

had  a  place  in  a  life  like  mine  I  should  never 
have  been  where  I  am  to-day.  I  abjured 
love  when  I  abjured  drink  on  the  day  when 
I  saw  where  they  had  both  led  poor  Invers- 
naid.  Forgive  me,"  he  said  hastily,  putting 
his  hand  on  hers.  "I  am  not  saying  any- 
thing unkind.  I  mean  only  that  love  as  you 
women  understand  it  has  since  that  day  had 
no  significance  for  me,  and,  please  God, 
never  will." 

"The  sentiment  has  the  virtue  of  novelty 
as  uttered  to  the  woman  who  is  to  be  your 
wife. ' ' 

"Let  us  be  sensible,  Griselda  dear,"  he 
said,  in  a  tone  of  gentle  protest.  "You 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  what  I  offer  you 
is  much  better  than  so-called  love  or  any 
other  idle  song.  You  are  now  in  a  position 
where  you  will  be  the  object  of  every  pre- 
sentable fortune-hunter  in  the  two  hemi- 
spheres. You  are  dangerously  independent 
to  make  your  own  choice,  while  your  want 
of  experience  would  render  you  an  easy 
victim.  Ask  Lady  Phillida,  ask  any  other 
reasonable  person,  and  every  one  will  tell 
you  that  not  the  least  of  all  your  good  for- 
tune is  that  you  should  be  bound  to  me. 
You  know  what  my  affection  is;  you  know 


228  GRISELDA 

what  my  protection  is ;  you  have  tested  them 
both.  You  know  that  with  me  you  run  no 
risks  whatever  Marriage,  they  say,  is  a 
lottery ;  but  you  and  I  know  that  in  it  there 
are  two  prizes  and  no  blanks.  What  can 
you  ask  for  more?" 

"Nothing,"  Griselda  said  impassively. 
"I  ask  nothing  at  all." 

"Then  don't  speak  to  me  like  that, "  Gray- 
burn  went  on  in  the  same  tone  of  kindly 
expostulation.  "I  don't  think  I  deserve  it. 
You  have  promised  to  marry  me ;  and  I  have 
given  you  my  help  on  the  strength  of  your 
word.  Do  you  wish  to  draw  back  now?" 

"No,  no,"  Griselda  said  hurriedly. 
"Never.  I  said  I  would  give  you  your 
price,  and  I  will  do  it. ' ' 

"Price  is  not  a  pretty  word  when  a  man 
has  worked  for  a  woman  for  twenty  years  as 
I  have  worked  for  you.  Nevertheless,  I 
accept  it;  but  I  should  like  to  say  just  this. 
In  business,  when  a  man  has  bought  a  house 
or  a  horse  or  a  mine,  as  the  case  may  be,  he 
sometimes  feels  on  second  thoughts  that  he 
has  bid  too  high.  But  when  the  day  of 
reckoning  comes  he  puts  his  check  down  in 
a  simple,  straightforward,  honest  fashion. 
If  it  costs  him  an  effort  he  conceals  it,  and 


GRISELDA  229 

stands  up  to  his  bargain  with  the  best  grace 
he  can  assume.  He  neither  thinks  nor  tries 
to  make  others  think  that  he  is  the  victim 
of  unfair  advantage.  We  call  that  honor 
between  man  and  man;  is  it  too  much  to 
look  for  it  between  man  and  woman?  You 
will  excuse  me,  dear  child,  if  I  speak  gravely 
on  a  day  that  should  be  all  smiles,  but  I 
want  things  to  be  clearly  understood.  I 
have  meant  for  years  past  to  marry  you; 
and  when  I  saw  that  you  were  unwilling  I 
used  such  means  as  were  at  my  command  to 
ensure,  to  ensnare  perhaps,  your  consent. 
It  was  a  moment  when  you  were  desperate^ 
when  you  saw  that  to  do  what  you  wanted 
would  cost  dear.  I  have  been  in  precisely 
the  same  position  many  a  time ;  and  I  have 
paid  dear.  It  came  high  perhaps,  but  it  was 
worth  it,  and  I  didn't  complain.  In  the  long 
run  I  saw  that  it  was  cheap.  On  the  day 
you  promised  to  marry  me  the  help  that  I 
could  give  you  seemed  worth  the  price,  as 
you  call  it,  that  I  asked  you  to  pay.  Of  that 
help  you  have  since  reaped  the  benefits,  and 
will  continue  to  reap  them  as  long  as  you 
live.  But  I  cannot  honestly  say  that  your 
attitude  to  me  has  been  either  as  gracious  or 
as  generous  as  mine  to  you.  From  that  day 


23o  GRISELDA 

to  this  I  have  allowed  your  promise  to  rest 
very  lightly  on  you.  I  have  spoken  of  it 
rarely  to  you,  and  never  to  any  one  else,  not 
even  to  Lady  Phillida ' ' 

"I've  told  her,"  Griselda  said. 

"That  is  quite  right.  But  I  feel  obliged 
to  say  that  your  undisguised  air  of  repug- 
nance when  the  subject  of  our  marriage  has 
come  up  is  something  which  I  neither 
understand  nor  can  continue  to  endure.  I 
have  no  wish  to  drag  you  like  a  second 
Zenobia  in  golden  chains.  I  am  not  going 
to  ill-treat  you  nor  neglect  you.  You  talk 
of  love  as  though  it  were  the  only  essential, 
but  your  own  experience  is  proof  of  its 
untrustworthy  and  passing  nature.  A  few 
months  ago  you  thought  you  loved  a  young 
man  whom  you  now  despise.  Suppose  you 
had  married  him?  You  would  have  done  so 
with  all  the  orange-flowers  blooming  and 
the  nuptial  trumpets  blowing,  as  though  the 
object  of  life  had  been  won.  And  what 
should  you  have  been  to-day?  A  woman 
who  despises  her  husband,  while  God  knows 
what  the  husband  would  have  begun  to  feel 
towards  his  wife. ' ' 

"Don't,"  Griselda  pleaded  faintly. 

"No,   I  won't  go  on  with  that.     You  can 


GRISELDA  231 

always  paint  a  fancy  picture  black.  I  speak 
only  of  what  you  yourself  have  given  me 
to  understand,  and  I  cite  it  as  a  case  in 
point.  The  fact  that  you  loved,  or  thought 
you  loved,  a  young  man  less  than  a  year  ago 
does  not  prevent  his  being  objectionable  to 
you  now.  And  therefore  I  contend  that  a 
marriage  of  reason,  such  as  ours  would  be, 
ought  not  to  inspire  you  with  the  horror 
which  you  never  hesitate  to  display.  For 
myself  I  cannot  understand  it.  Our  inter- 
ests have  always  been  identical.  Your  life 
has  been  linked  with  mine  ever  since  you 
were  born.  What  more  unnatural  than  that 
they  should  be  torn  asunder  now?  But,  I 
ask  you  again,  are  you  seeking  to  elude  your 
promise?  or  do  you  mean  to  keep  it  like  a 
Jephthah's  daughter  or  an  Iphegenia  bewail- 
ing her  sad  lot  but  having  no  choice  but  to 
yield?  If  so  speak  plainly.  It  is  only  just 
to  me. ' ' 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  silence,  Gray- 
burn's  steel-blue  eyes  keen  with  question 
and  determination.  As  Griselda  gazed  at 
him  she  silently  acknowledged  the  justice  of 
what  he  said,  and  knew  that  she  must  try  to 
accept  her  fate,  if  not  with  cheerfulness,  at 
least  with  dignity  and  resignation. 


232  GRISELDA 

"You  are  quite  right,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  "I  have  been  lacking  in  honor.  I 
have  been  neither  grateful  nor  just.  I  beg 
your  pardon  for  it,  and  will  try  to  be  differ- 
ent. Believe  me,  I  am  not  blind  to  all  your 
goodness  to  me,  but  I  am  and  have  been 
most  unhappy.  But  to-day  I  suppose  is  the 
beginning  of  a  new  life  for  me,  and  I  am 
going  to  try  to  make  it  so.  I  promise  you 
•never  again  to  give  you  cause  for  just  com- 
plaint. I  will  do  my  best  as  long  as  I  live 
to  make  you  a  good  wife,  to  carry  out  your 
wishes  and  to  assume  towards  our  marriage 
your  own  point  of  view. ' ' 

She  smiled  as  she  spoke,  and  held  out  her 
hand.  If  the  smile  was  forced,  and  if  the 
words  had  cost  her  an  immense  effort,  Gray- 
burn  did  not  perceive  it.  He  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  go  behind  and  search  the  motives 
of  what  suited  him. 

"That  is  your  true  self,"  he  said,  taking 
her  hand  and  smiling  also.  "That  is  the 
Griselda  whom  I  recognize." 

"I  want  only  to  say  in  self-defence,"  she 
continued,  "what  perhaps  you  will  not 
understand,  that  it  is  the  very  strength  of 
my  affection  for  you  as  father  and  brother 
and  all  in  all  in  my  life  that  makes  it  hard 


GRISELDA  233 

for  me  to  think  of  you  as  my  husband.  It 
would  be  hard  in  any  case,  but  it  is  espe- 
cially so  after  what  took  place  last  year." 

"It  doesn't  matter  whether  I  understand 
that  or  not,"  he  said,  with  a  complete  return 
to  the  happy  tone  in  which  he  had  spoken  at 
the  beginning  of  the  conversation,  "as  long 
as  I  know  that  it  is  the  case.  Since  it  is 
so  we  will  hurry  nothing,  we  will  hasten 
slowly,  and  take  our  time ;  which  brings  me 
back  to  what  we  were  talking  about  a  few 
minutes  ago.  You  asked  me  what  I  propose 
to  do.  Well,  the  first  thing  is  that  which  I 
shall  tell  you  last.  Secondly,  and  most 
important,  I  propose  that  my  wife  as  grande 
dame  shall  have  a  position  inferior  to  none 
in  Europe  or  America,  that  she  shall  have 
everything  that  is  worth  having,  and  do 
everything  that  is  worth  doing,  and  know 
every  one  who  is  worth  knowing,  and  be 
admired  and  honored  and  sought  out  as  she 
is  worthy  to  be.  With  her  rank,  her  youth, 
her  beauty,  her  goodness,  her  intelligence, 
her  wealth,  she  shall  have  more  than  can  be 
commanded  by  any  queen." 

At  his  enthusiastic,  boy-like  tone  Griselda 
smiled  in  spite  of  herself. 

"I  am  not  capable  of  that,"  she  said. 


234  GRISELDA 

"Lomond  Lodge,"  he  went  on,  "shall  be 
the  most  hospitable  home  in  England. 
House  of  Tulloch  shall  again  become  one  of 
the  grandest  residences  in  Scotland.  This 
shall  be  your  setting,  the  background  of 
your  state;  where  I  shall  come  less  as  mas- 
ter than  as  guest.  But  this  is  not  all,"  he 
added,  with  a  sudden  change  of  tone.  "I 
shall  be  no  prince-consort,  and  play  no  sec- 
ond part.  If  you  are  to  stand  for  beauty,  I 
shall  be  here  for  use.  I  have  great  dreams, 
Griselda,  practical  dreams,  I  think,  and  I 
mean  to  do  my  best  to  carry  them  out.  Our 
home  is  to  be  in  two  continents.  We  must 
not  forget  that  while  you  are  Scotch  and  I 
am  English  we  are  both,  in  a  sense  Ameri- 
cans. With  a  great  position  and  great 
wealth  we  shall  have  great  opportunities, 
and  especially  for  the  work  which  lies  near- 
est of  all  to  my  heart,  the  unification  in 
sentiment  and  for  all  the  purposes  of  civili- 
zation of  the  Anglo-Saxon  people.  This  is 
big  talk  but  I  think  it  can  be  justified.  I 
have  bought  a  house  in  New  York — a  very 
beautiful  house — and  we  shall  live  almost  as 
much  there  as  here.  But  even  this  is  not 
all." 

He  stopped  and  his  expression  changed 


GRISELDA  235 

from  enthusiasm  to  gravity.  When  he  spoke 
his  tone  was  lower,  and  round  his  mouth 
the  lines  of  determined  purpose  were  more 
marked  and  strong. 

"I  am  going  to  attain  the  end  for  which  I 
have  toiled  as  long  as  I  have  toiled  for  you. 
I  am  going  back  to  the  home  whence  I  was 
driven  out  and  I  am  going  to  make  it  mine. " 

"  Oh ! "  Griselda  breathed.  She  knew  that 
he  was  touching  on  the  most  sacred  subject 
of  his  life. 

"My  brother  Paul  came  to  see  me  yester- 
day," he  said.  "It  was  a  curious  meeting. 
The  last  time  we  saw  each  other  was  twenty- 
three  years  ago.  I  think  I  played  the  part 
of  Esau  yesterday  with  magnanimity;  at 
least  I  tried  to  do  so." 

"And  was  he  Jacob?" 

"In  some  respects,  though  he  was  the 
elder  son.  He  did  not  supplant  me,  he  only 
turned  me  out  of  doors.  It  was  after  my 
father  and  mother  died  and  he  had  come 
into  Grayburn  Hall  and  the  little  property. 
He  had  just  been  married  to  a  parson's 
daughter  from  Enderby.  I  was  spoken  of 
as  having  gone  to  the  devil,  which  I  sup- 
pose was  true.  At  any  rate  I  had  spent  my 
last  shilling.  I  had  gambled  away  the  little 


236  GRISELDA 

that  my  father  left  me,  and  one  day  at  Lin- 
coln I  found  myself  literally  without  food, 
shelter,  or  a  penny  in  my  pocket.  It  was 
twenty  miles  to  Gray  burn  Hall,  and  I 
tramped  it.  It  was  about  nine  when  I 
arrived,  and  the  house  was  all  lit  up.  Paul 
and  his  wife  were  giving  a  little  dinner,  the 
first  after  their  marriage.  At  the  door  the 
servant  who  opened  to  me  was  curiously 
embarrassed;  he  had  evidently  received 
orders.  He  would  speak  to  Mr.  Paul,  he 
said.  Presently  Mr.  Paul  came  out.  'You 
can't  come  in  here,'  were  the  words  with 
which  he  began,  and  the  rest  was  according 
to  that  tenor.  I  crawled  back  to  Lincoln 
more  dead  than  alive,  having  eaten  nothing- 
since  the  day  before,  and  lived  on  dust  and 
ashes  until  I  received  a  loan  from  Invers- 
naid.  Shortly  after  that  an  old  aunt  died 
and  left  me  five  hundred  pounds,  with  which 
I  went  to  America.  But  I  have  never  for- 
gotten Paul,  nor  the  night  when  I  was 
turned  from  my  father's  door  and  the  house 
where  I  was  born." 

"How  does  he  seem  now?"  Griselda  asked. 

' '  Rather  gray  and  faded  out,  not  much  of 
a  man.  His  wife,  too,  who  came  with  him, 
is  a  poor  colorless  creature.  They  have  had 


GRISELDA  237 

a  good  deal  of  trouble.  Their  only  son  is 
dead  and  both  their  daughters  have  mar- 
ried badly,  and  Gray  burn  Hall  is  in  the 
market.  The  next  place  to  it  is  also  in  the 
market,  and  the  next  place  to  that.  I  am 
going  to  buy  all  three  and  rebuild  the  old 
house  on  a  splendid  scale,  so  that  the  name 
of  Grayburn  may  take  its  proper  place  in 
Lincolnshire.  I  know  every  hedged  lane 
and  flat  far-reaching  field  from  Grayburn 
Cross  to  Winterby.  It  is  to  be  all  mine, 
Griselda.  The  land  on  which  my  fathers 
lived  is  where  I  shall  live  and  where  I  shall 
die.  You  don't  understand  that  joy  perhaps, 
as  you  said  just  now  that  I  couldn't  under- 
stand your  sorrow,  but  it  is  a  very  living 
one.  It  is  the  passion  of  my  soul — the  pas- 
sion for  the  place  where  I  was  born  and  to 
which  I  am  going  back  again. ' ' 

"I  can  understand  it, "  Griselda  said,  "even 
though  I  cannot  share  it.  I  am  very  glad 
for  your  sake  that  what  you  desire  so  much 
can  be  so  easily  carried  out. ' ' 

"Now  let  us  brighten  up  a  little,"  Gray- 
burn  said,  with  another  of  his  sudden 
changes.  "These  are  some  of  my  purposes, 
my  first  purposes,  but  not  the  very  first.  I 
said  that  I  would  make  that  proposition  last, 


*38  GRISELDA 

and  it  is  a  matter  in  which  you  and  Lady 
Phillida  must  decide.  We  are  in  no  hurry 
to  be  married,  are  we?" 

"That  depends  on  you." 

"Well,  I  am  not  quite  ready.  I  want  first 
to  accustom  you  to  the  idea.  I  want  to 
brush  away  the  recollections  of  the  past  few 
months.  After  so  much  strain  we  need  a 
little  pleasure.  Therefore  I  suggest  that  we 
should  all  three  go  away  as  soon  as  possible 
from  cold,  wet  England  and  look  for  change 
and  warmth  in  Italy.  How  does  that  strike 
you?  Or  would  you  prefer  the  Riviera?" 

"No,  not  the  Riviera.  There  would  be 
too  many  people  there.  I  should  like  to  go 
to  Italy." 

"Would  it  really  please  you?" 

"Very  much,  if  Lady  Phillida  would 
come.  I  doubt  that,  however." 

"I  shall  persuade  her,"  Grayburn  said 
with  confidence.  "She  is  too  good  a  friend 
in  woe  not  to  stand  by  us  in  weal. ' ' 

Griselda  brightened  visibly.  The  sugges- 
tion to  go  abroad  was  like  a  reprieve.  She 
had  no  hope  left  of  ultimate  escape,  but 
even  a  few  weeks'  respite  was  something 
gained. 

They  talked  a  little  longer  of  dates  and 


GRISELDA 


239 


arrangements  and  routes  of  travel;  and 
when  Grayburn  at  last  went  away  the  girl 
was,  if  not  happier,  soothed  and  softened, 
perhaps  not  reconciled,  but  more  resigned. 
When  left  alone  she  remained  sitting  still, 
watching  the  dying  fire — now  thinking,  now 
praying,  nerving  herself  for  renunciation, 
and  whispering  half  aloud  at  the  thought  of 
her  past  hopes,  "Good-bye,  Good-bye." 


XIV 

"I  wonder  if  there  is  any  one  here?"  Gray- 
burn  called,  as  he  saw,  in  descending,  the 
drawing-room  door  ajar,  and  pushed  it  open. 

Lady  Phillida  was  there,  sitting  at  a  win- 
dow, looking  into  the  broad  street,  but 
seeing  nothing. 

She  was  passing  through  the  bitterest 
moment  which  her  life  of  tips  and  downs 
had  known.  In  her  fifteen  years  of  widow- 
hood she  had  received  many  a  hard  knock 
from  without;  but  this  was  from  within. 
Neither  sorrow,  slander,  nor  slights  had 
ever  left  her  a  prey  to  her  own  self- 
reproach.  She  had  come  out  of  all  three 
with  head  erect,  and  conscience  clear,  firmer 
and  prouder  and  more  determined  than  ever 
to  do  what  she  thought  right  and  hold 
her  own.  She  had  gone  her  way,  and  had 
prized  her  independence;  if  she  had  had 
any  weakness  it  was  in  what  she  called  her 
knowledge  of  the  world.  Now  her  whole  soul 
lay  bare,  scourged  and  tortured  by  the  sense 
of  having  made  the  most  humiliating  of  all 
240 


GRISELDA  241 

mistakes.  She  had  allowed  herself  to  fancy, 
to  believe,  that  a  man  had  cared  for  her,  to 
whom  she  had  been  after  all  nothing  but  a 
useful  assistant  and  from  time  to  time  a 
sympathetic  friend.  In  a  schoolgirl  it  would 
have  been  pitiable ;  in  her  it  was  unpardon- 
able. She  had  seen  him  day  by  day,  she 
had  heard  his  words,  she  had  seen  his  looks, 
she  had  taken  note  of  all  the  little  nothings 
by  which  the  heart  betrays  itself,  she  had 
had  every  means  of  judging,  and  yet  she 
had  made  this  mistake. 

She  had  been  not  only  self-deluded,  but 
self-ensnared.  She  had  given  what  she 
thought  she  received.  She  had  allowed 
the  heart  which  she  had  supposed  too  dis- 
illusioned ever  to  be  deceived  again  to 
respond  to  the  call  which  had  not  been  made 
to  it.  She  had  permitted  herself  to  dream 
dreams  and  build  up  hopes ;  and  the  knowl- 
edge of  life  on  which  she  grounded  her  pride 
had  counselled  her  nothing.  Neither  the 
age  which  she  avowed  nor  the  experience 
which  she  vaunted  had  saved  her  from  the 
most  crushing  of  all  blows  to  her  self- 
esteem. 

How  had  it  been  possible?  How  had  she 
been  so  self -deceived? 


242  GRISELDA 

With  cheeks  flaming,  and  hard  gray  eyes 
staring  vacantly  into  the  street  she  went 
back  over  the  path  which  had  brought  her 
to  this  moment  of  mortification  and  folly. 
She  remembered  the  first  meeting  with 
Grayburn  on  the  lawn  at  Lomond  Lodge 
when  she  had  not  had  the  chance  to  do  more 
than  speak  to  him.  She  remembered  her 
satisfaction  when  on  the  same  evening  he 
had  been  appointed  to  take  her  to  dinner. 
She  had  been  curious  as  to  him,  he  sus- 
picious as  to  her. 

The  details -of  their  conversation  returned 
to  her,  and  she  recalled  her  sense  of  pleasure 
in  having  again  met  one  whom  she  knew  to 
be  a  man,  so  different  from  the  carpet- 
knights  who  annoyed  her  with  their  atten- 
tions and  the  wealthy  mercantile  widowers 
who  offered  her  their  hands.  Here  was  a 
man  who  had  really  lived  and  was  ready  to 
live  on,  who  ha/1  done  much  and  would  do 
more,  who  had  seen  good  days  and  evil,  who 
had  drunk  sweet  wine  and  bitter,  and  who 
was  more  than  ever  eager,  vigorous,  and 
virile,  full  of  fire  and  hope.  Strong  but  not 
stupid,  simple  but  inscrutable,  self-centred 
perhaps  but  not  precisely  selfish,  he  was  to 
Lady  Phillida  the  very  type  of  the  master- 


GRISELDA  243 

man  who  hews  his  way  through  circum- 
stance. To  him  a  proud  woman  could  abne- 
gate her  pride  and  submit  her  independence. 

After  the  evening  at  Ascot,  and  the 
moment  which  they  jestingly  called  the 
Earthquake,  he  and  she  had  been  drawn 
together  by  a  common  care  and  a  common 
interest.  Griselda,  though  the  most  impor- 
tant figure  in  their  group,  gradually  fell  into 
the  background,  and  they  two  undertook 
together  the  management  of  her  cause. 
Grayburn  came  soon  to  ask  Lady  Phillida's 
advice  and  to  depend  upon  her  help.  Where 
he  brought  determination  she  added  tact; 
and  his  forcefulness  of  action  was  refined 
and  perfected  by  her  knowledge  of  social 
detail  and  dignified  procedure.  He  lent 
himself  to  her  influence,  and  submitted  to 
her  charm.  He  was  at  once  an  apt  pupil 
and  a  dominant  director,  learning  what  she 
had  to  teach,  but  subjecting  her  to  his  will. 

Their  intercourse  had  always  been  frank, 
simple,  and  straightforward,  always  natural 
and  necessary  under  the  circumstances  in 
which  they  found  themselves.  Their  con- 
versation had  turned  not  on  hearts,  but  on 
practical  matters  of  law.  If  then  there  had 
been  a  mistake,  Lady  Phillida  admitted,  the 


244  GRISELDA 

fault  was  not  his.  He  had  done  nothing  and 
said  nothing  to  mislead  her.  He  had  only 
looked  into  her  eyes  with  that  steel-blue 
gaze  of  mingled  comprehension  and  compul- 
sion which  she  had  taken  as  meaning  some- 
thing else.  Now  she  could  almost  laugh  out 
in  scorn  of  her  own  fatuity.  She  felt  as  if 
she  must  tell  the  tale  abroad,  publishing  it 
as  a  bitter  joke  against  herself. 

She  heard  his  footstep  as  he  descended 
from  Griselda's  room.  She  wished  he  would 
come  in.  She  wanted  to  see  him,  to  come 
face  to  face  with  him,  to  defy  her  own 
weakness,  to  prove  to  herself  how  little 
cause  she  had  for  such  egregious  error. 

"Yes,  come  in,"  she  said  at  once,  as 
Gray  burn  entered.  "Do  come  here  and 
look  at  this  grotesque  monkey  begging  for 
his  organ-grinder." 

"Am  I  bothering  you?"  he  asked  as  he 
cast  an  indifferent  glance  into  the  street, 
and  then  sat  down  on  the  broad  window- 
seat,  close  beside  her  chair. 

"Not  in  the  least,"  she  answered  with 
that  air  of  briskness  which  practice  had 
made  it  easy  to  assume.  "I  was  doing 
nothing — only  thinking." 

"Pleasant  thoughts,  I  hope?" 


GRISELDA  245 

"Mixed.  At  my  age  the  honey  has  always 
a  little  taste  of  wormwood. ' ' 

"And  at  mine,"  he  said,  "we  are  only  too 
thankful  when  the  wormwood  has  a  little 
taste  of  honey." 

"Oh,  you  have  eaten  your  blackbread 
before  the  white,  as  the  French  say.  That 
is  the  best  of  all  good  fortune.  With  most 
of  us  it  is  the  reverse.  Of  all  the  men  I 
know  you  are  the  most  to  be  congratulated. " 

"I've  come  for  congratulations " 

"Yes,  I  know,  Griselda  has  just  told  me." 

"And  what  do  you  say?" 

His  keen  eyes  were  on  her  and  a  half 
smile  was  playing  round  his  lips.  She 
forced  herself  to  meet  his  gaze  with  her 
own  frankest  and  steadiest  regard.  The 
slight  tremor  in  her  voice  was  not  more  than 
the  occasion  justified. 

"What  does  one  say  when  the  man  one 
honors  most  marries  the  woman  one  loves 
more  than  any  other  in  the  world?  You 
know  what  I  wish  you  both  before  I  utter 
it." 

"Yes,  I  do  know,"  he  said  softly,  leaning 
towards  her  and  taking  in  his  hand  the 
tassel  of  her  long  silken  girdle.  "No  one 
ever  had  a  friend  like  you." 


246  GRISELDA 

"Don't  say  that,"  she  pleaded,  fearing  to 
lose  her  self-control.  She  could  endure 
indifference,  but  not  that  gentle,  earnest 
tone. 

"I  will  say  it,"  he  persisted.  "The  time 
has  come  when  we  must  thank  you.  No, 
not  precisely  that.  One  does  not  thank 
another  when  one  owes  a  debt  like  ours  to 
you. ' ' 

"You  owe  me  nothing,  nothing  at  all," 
she  said  hastily.  "I  beg  you  not  to  say  so." 

"We  will  not  dispute  about  words  and 
terms.  The  essential  only  is  important." 

"There  is  no  essential " 

"On  your  side  perhaps.  But  on  mine 
there  is  that  which  is  essential  and  all-con- 
sequential  ' ' 

"You  forget  that  what  little  I  have  done 
I  had  to  do.  I  am  like  the  unprofitable 
servant;  it  was  my  duty;  and  I  have 
received  my  fee." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  so  much  of  what 
you've  done  for  us  as  of  what  you've  been 
to  us. ' ' 

"Ah,  there  the  discussion  is  on  my  own 
ground.  I  admit  that  for  conscious  actions, 
thanks  more  or  less  formal,  or  more  or  less 
heartfelt,  are  in  order,  if  not  positively  due. 


GRISELDA  247 

But  for  what  one  is  one  deserves  no  thanks 
at  all.  What  one  is,  one  is  unconsciously. 
In  giving  of  oneself  one  gives  without  effort, 
because  one  cannot  help  oneself " 

"I  am  not  speaking  generally  or  philo- 
sophically," Grayburn  said,  quietly  putting 
a  stop  to  her  attempt  to  lead  the  conversa- 
tion away  from  herself.  "I  am  speaking  of 
a  particular  case  and  a  very  special  person. 
And  yet  I  am  only  groping  my  way,  as 
it  were.  I  am  trying  to  find  out  where  I 
stand  and  what  I  ought  to  do.  Let  me 
state  the  case.  When  a  woman  of  high  rank, 
great  beauty,  and  the  ablest  and  noblest 
mind " 

"If  you  mean  me,"  she  laughed,  trying  to 
speak  flippantly,  "that  has  been  said  so 
often  by  callow  gentlemen  from  Oxford, 
that  it  sounds  now  like  the  prelude  to  an 
old-fashioned  song." 

' '  Perhaps  it  is  an  old-fashioned  song, ' '  he 
continued  with  the  same  quiet  earnestness, 
looking  up  into  her  eyes,  "but  I  mean  to  sing 
it  to  the  end.  When  this  lady  gives  me  help 
when  I  need  it,  friendship  when  I  stand 
alone,  trust  when  very  few  believe  in 
me 

"Then  you  take  it  as  a  wedding  present," 


248  GRISELDA 

she  said,  springing  up ;  turning  her  back  on 
him  she  began  to  poke  the  fire  vigorously. 
"There,  there,"  she  cried,  "you've  said 
enough  and  to  spare.  When  I  want  a  reward 
for  my  services  I  will  let  you  know  what  it 
is.  Meantime  I  can  think  it  over  during  my 
holiday. ' ' 

"What  holiday?"  he  asked,  rising  and  fol- 
lowing her  to  the  fire-place. 

"I  feel  something  like  an  old  nurse,"  she 
said,  "from  whom  they  are  taking  her  baby. 
I  can't  look  for  another  place  just  yet.  I 
mean  to  take  a  rest. ' ' 

"I've  thought  of  that,"  he  said. 

"That's  kind.  Perhaps  you  mean  to  give 
me  an  extra  week's  wages  with  my  char- 
acter?" 

"No,  but  I  thought  you  might  like  to  stay 
on  and  make  a  little  visit  in  the  family." 

"Quite  like  one  of  themselves,  I  suppose 
you  mean?" 

"Oh  no,  a  great  deal  better." 

"I  fear  the  metaphor  is  getting  beyond 
me,"  she  said,  putting  the  poker  back  into 
its  place,  and  dusting  the  tips  of  her  fingers 
one  against  the  other. 

"Figures  of  speech  are  likely  to  be 
indefinite,"  he  rejoined,  "and  so  I  will  come 


GRISELDA  249 

to  facts.  I  think  you  and  Griselda  both 
need  a  change.  I  propose  to  carry  you  off 
to  Italy." 

"I  couldn't  possibly  go,"  she  said  with 
decision. 

"Why  not?" 

"First  because  I  am  under  a  vow  neither 
to  eat  bread  nor  drink  water,  so  to  speak, 
until  I  have  been  seen  in  half  a  dozen 
different  country  houses,  all  the  way  between 
here  and  York. ' ' 

"That's  no  reason,"  he  said.  "You've 
put  off  visits  of  that  sort " 

"Until  they  can  be  put  off  no  longer." 

"That  doesn't  weigh  with  me  at  all." 

"Nor  with  me,"  she  avowed  with  a  frank  • 
laugh,  as  though  she  had  nothing  whatever 
to  conceal.     "My  true  reason  is  that  a  sort 
of  mother-in-law    on    a    honeymoon,    as   I 
should  be,  is  always  in  the  way. ' ' 

"It  isn't  to  be  a  honeymoon,  at  least  not 
at  first.  Griselda  doesn't  want  to  be  mar- 
ried yet;  and  I  myself  feel  that  the  wedding 
would  come  best  just  before  our  return  to 
England.  So  your  true  reason  also  is  an 
insufficient  one. ' ' 

"But  I  have  a  truer  reason  still." 

"Which  is?" 


250  GRISELDA 

"You  had  really  better  take  no  for  an 
answer,  with  my  most  grateful  thanks,"  she 
said,  laughing,  and  beginning  to  re-arrange 
the  objects  on  the  mantel-piece. 

"That  has  never  been  my  policy  in  life, 
and  least  of  all  just  now." 

"You  persist  in  probing  the  very  secrets 
of  my  heart?" 

"I  do." 

"Then,  I  can't  accept  your  amiable  invi- 
tation because  I  don't  want  to  go." 

Grayburn  said  nothing,  and  so  she  turned 
and  looked  at  him.  For  the  first  time  since 
she  had  known  him  he  had  the  air  of  being 
hurt. 

"You  mean  that  you  are  tired  of  us,"  he 
said  at  last. 

"Not  exactly." 

"Then  what?" 

"Only  that  the  best  of  friends  must  part." 

"Not  in  every  case." 

"Perhaps  not  in  every  case,  but  certainly 
in  this." 

"I  fail  to  see  why." 

"Hasn't  it  occurred  to  your  mind  that 
when  Griselda  is  married  to  you  she  will  no 
longer  have  need  of  me?" 

"It  hasn't,"   he   said   simply.     "On  the 


GRISELDA  251 

contrary  neither  Griselda  nor  I  could  do 
without  you. ' ' 

"That's  nonsense.  Please  don't  say  it. 
It  is  so  ridiculous  that  it  almost  hurts  me." 

"Besides  Griselda  and  I  are  not  married 
yet.  I  never  thought  that  you  would  leave 
us  before " 

"I  couldn't  go  traveling.  I  might  stay 
with  her  here ;  I  mean  she  might  stay  with 
me.  But  I  couldn't  go  with  you " 

Lady  Phillida  stopped  suddenly.  She 
was  almost  betraying  herself,  and  certainly 
showing  moral  cowardice.  There  was  no 
reason  why  she  should  not  go  to  Italy.  The 
only  motive  for  saying  no  was  fear — fear  to 
meet  this  man,  fear  of  being  with  him  day 
by  day,  fear  of  his  outspoken  appreciation, 
fear  of  the  torture  of  his  friendship.  It  was 
a  new  accusation  of  self;  a  fresh  humilia- 
tion. 

"Then  we  will  not  go,"  said  Gray  burn. 
"Griselda  will  be  disappointed." 

Then  something  else  awoke  in  Lady  Phil- 
lida— the  almost  maternal  love  for  the  girl 
whom  she  would  sacrifice  to  the  impulse 
to  find  secrecy  and  shelter  for  herself.  She 
saw  what  this  journey  would  mean  to 
Griselda,  a  relief,  a  breathing  space,  a 


252  GRISELDA 

moment  for  preparation ;  and  who  could  tell 
what  else? 

"I'll  go,"  she  said  to  herself.  "It  will  be 
like  eating  ashes  as  it  were  bread,  but  I've 
done  that  before.  Cost  what  it  will,  I'll 
go." 

"Of  course,  if  Griselda  would  be  hurt  if  I 
didn't  go,  I  might " 

"Do  for  her  sake  what  you  would  not  do 
for  mine. ' ' 

Lady  Phillida's  eyes  flashed. 

"Is  it  fair  to  say  that?"  she  asked. 

"It  is  if  I  feel  it,"  he  answered  simply. 

"Haven't  I  given  proofs "  she  began. 

"Yes  and  no,"  he  interrupted.  "When 
one  feels  as  I  do  there  are  never  proofs 
enough." 

"You  are  hard  to  satisfy." 

"Because  I  have  a  great  hunger." 

"For  what,  pray?" 

"For  the  unknown." 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  getting  out  of  your 
depth." 

"But  I  can  swim." 

"I  can't,"  she  said  laconically.  "So  let 
us  return  to  dry  land.  It  is  safest  there. 
The  particular  land  of  which  we  were 
speaking  was  Italy,  was  it  not?" 


GRISELDA  253 

"Italy  or  elsewhere,  so  long  as  you  come. " 

"And  if  I  don't?" 

"Then  we  shall  not  go,  as  I  have  already 
said. ' ' 

"It  is  absurd  to  make  your  actions  de- 
pendent upon  mine." 

"The  seasons  are  always  dependent  on 
the  sun." 

"The  fact  is,"  said  Lady  Phillida  with  the 
practical  air  of  stating  the  situation,  "that 
you  and  Griselda  have  a  fancy  for  taking  a 
sort  of  pre-nuptial  wedding  trip." 

"That  is  true  as  far  as  it  goes." 

"And  you  are  in  search  of  some  one  who 
will  satisfy  the  social  demands  of  the  situ- 
ation. ' ' 

"Bringing  us  up  to  the  perfect  number, 
three. ' ' 

"Then  as  an  act  of  charity " 

"Charity  is  always  the  blessed  third  with 
Faith  and  Hope,  and  if  I  remember  rightly, 
the  greatest  of  all. ' ' 

"And  may  I  ask  which  grace  you  imper- 
sonate yourself?" 

"I  clearly  stand  for  Hope;  because  I 
know  that  we  three  are  f  o  be  as  inseparable 
as  the  graces  of  St.  Paul. ' ' 

"I  should  rather  call  that  Faith,  on  the 


254  GRISELDA 

definition  that  faith  is  believing  what  you 
know  isn't  true." 

"Then  I  shall  be  Faith.  I  will  play  as 
many  parts  as  Bottom  the  Weaver,  if  only 
you  will  not  leave  us. ' ' 

"I  will  not  leave  you  to  the  extent  of 
going  to  Italy  with  you,  and  at  the  wedding 
giving  the  bride  away.  When  that  is  done 
I  shall  consider  my  role  of  Charity  at  an 
end. ' ' 

"Charity  never  faileth,"  he  said,  looking 
half  grateful,  half  triumphant.  "I  knew 
you  wouldn't  fail  us,  and  you  haven't  and 
you  won't.  Give  me  your  hand  upon  it;  for 
I  end  where  I  began  in  saying  that  no  man 
ever  had  a  friend  like  you." 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  Lady  Phillida  when 
he  went  away.  Skilled  as  she  was  in  social 
dissimulation  the  air  of  banter  had  been 
difficult  to  maintain,  and  before  his  expres- 
sions of  sincere,  almost  affectionate,  regard 
her  spirit  quailed. 

"How  can  I  keep  it  up?"  she  asked  herself 
as  the  street  door  closed  behind  him.  "I 
must,"  she  went  on  with  clenched  teeth. 
"For  Griselda's  sake,  I  must." 

Then  slowly,  with  the  gait  of  a  tired 
woman  from  whom  all  courage  and  buoy- 


GRISELDA  255 

ancy  is  gone,  she  dragged  herself  upstairs  to 
Griselda's  door. 

She  knocked,  but  there  was  no  answer. 
Entering  the  sitting  room  she  found  it 
empty.  Crossing  to  where  the  bed-room 
door  stood  open,  she  saw  the  girl  within 
kneeling  at  her  prayer  desk,  above  which 
hung  a  great,  white,  ivory  crucifix. 

Griselda  turned  at  the  sound  of  the  foot- 
step, but  before  she  had  time  to  rise,  Lady 
Phillida  was  at  her  side. 

Then  clinging  to  each  other,  and  with 
convulsive  sobs,  they  continued  to  kneel  on 
together  before  the  thorn-crowned  figure  on 
the  Cross. 

And  yet  the  little  dinner  that  night  was 
very  bright. 

"I  will  show  Griselda  how  to  do  it,"  Lady 
Phillida  had  said  to  herself  during  the  day. 
"I'll  show  her  how  our  soldiers  go  singing 
and  smiling  into  battle,  till  the  smile  is  fixed 
and  the  song  forever  silenced  by  the  first 
stray  bullet.  She  is  too  young  yet  to  know 
that  a  woman's  pluck  is  often  in  being  most 
radiant  and  gay  just  at  the  moment  when 
some  great  fear  is  eating  all  the  happiness 
out  of  her  life,  or  her  heart  is  in  process  of 
breaking.  She  will  see  and  learn  to-night." 


256  GRISELDA 

So  without  the  aid  of  artifice,  with  cheeks 
glowing  with  the  excitement  of  the  struggle, 
and  with  eyes  sparkling  with  the  fire  of  the 
dominant  will  within,  Lady  Phillida  renewed 
that  night  the  beauty  which  had  scarcely 
begun  to  wane.  She  purposely  made  herself 
as  gorgeous  as  an  exquisite  taste  would  let 
her,  arraying  herself  in  brilliant  white,  with 
touches  of  silver  and  pale  green,  and  deck- 
ing herself  with  diamonds  and  emeralds  on 
neck  and  wrists  and  hands.  Griselda,  in 
black  with  pearls,  offered  to  Lady  Phillida 
the  contrast  of  shade  to  sunlight,  and  of 
dignified  youth  to  magnificent  maturity. 
Grayburn  had  the  air  of  a  man  with  whom 
all  was  going  well.  For  him  it  was  one  of 
those  rare  moments  when  a  man  admits  to 
himself  that  his  success  is  complete,  that  his 
happiness  has  no  flaw  in  it.  Never  counting 
what  the  attainment  of  his  purpose  cost 
himself  he  counted  still  less  what  it  cost  to 
others.  Griselda  and  Lady  Phillida  had 
accepted  his  yoke  and  had  bent  to  his  will ; 
with  what  amount  of  effort  it  never  occurred 
to  him  to  enquire.  He  did  not  seek  to 
know;  he  would  not  have  understood  if  he 
had  known. 

Lady  Phillida's  poverty  was  not  inconsis- 


GRISELDA  257 

tent  with  the  possession  of  much  beautiful 
inherited  silver,  exquisite  china,  and  fine  old 
wines.  The  dinner  was  excellent,  the  talk 
bright.  Grayburn  told  amusing  stories  of 
adventures  in  the  west;  Lady  Phillida 
recounted  experiences  still  more  amusing  of 
the  social  world  of  London ;  while  Griselda 
found  again  her  almost  forgotten  gift  of 
repartee.  To  her  Lady  Phillida's  courage 
was  heroic;  it  at  once  shamed  and  excited 
her  own.  In  her  friend's  phrase,  she  saw 
how  it  was  done  and  did  it. 

"But,"  she  said  to  herself  as  the  laugh 
went  round,  "was  there  ever  a  greater  proof 
of  the  superiority  of  man?  Here  are  we  two 
poor  women,  nominally  free  and  independ- 
ent, from  whom  this  man  has  taken  all ;  he 
has  tied  us  to  his  chariot  wheels  and  rides 
triumphantly  on,  indifferent  to,  unconscious 
of,  our  suffering.  And  yet  we  dare  not  even 
weep.  On  the  contrary,  we  feast  him,  and 
amuse  him,  and  hide  our  tears  with  hollow 
laughter.  We  try  to  make  him  think  that 
not  only  do  we  do  his  will,  but  that  we 
do  it  willingly,  and  all  because  he  is  a 
man. ' ' 

Still,  she  did  not  rebel ;  she  had  not  even 
the  courage  to  go  on  with  the  complaint. 


258  GRISELDA 

At  a  certain  moment  Grayburn  raised  his 
glass  and  proposed  the  health  of  the  most 
modest  of  living  maidens,  the  Countess  of 
Lomond.  He  and  Lady  Phillida  drank  it 
standing.  Then  Griselda  rose  and  made  a 
little  speech,  ending  by  asking  all  present  to 
rise  with  her  and  drink  the  health  of  the 
best  of  women  and  the  stanchest  of  friends, 
Lady  Phillida  Wimpole.  Lady  Phillida  also 
spoke  and  asked  the  Countess  of  Lomond 
to  join  with  her  in  toasting  one  who  was 
inclined  to  use  towards  them  a  giant's 
tyranny  with  a  giant's  strength,  Mr.  Bo- 
tolph  Grayburn.  Mr.  Botolph  Graybum 
made  no  reply  to  this,  but  gave  a  signal  to 
a  servant.  In  response  the  man  brought 
forward  and  placed  before  Grayburn  a  large 
leathern  casket.  There  was  a  moment  of 
solemn  silence  and  suspense.  Then  opening 
it  he  displayed  a  Countess's  coronet  in 
splendid  jewels. 

The  thing  was  so  beautiful,  flashing  in  the 
light,  that  neither  of  the  women  could 
repress  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and 
admiration. 

Grayburn  rose  and  placed  it  lightly  on 
Griselda's  head,  who  sat  now  quite  still  and 
white,  her  heart  beating  wildly  with  mingled 


GRISELDA  259 

excitement  and  pain.     Then  he  stooped  and 
kissed  her  gently  on  the  brow. 

While  Lady  Phillida  fastened  the  glitter- 
ing ornament  in  its  place,  Grayburn  gave 
another  signal.  Another  casket  was  brought 
similar  to  the  first. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said  to  Lady  Phillida. 

Then  taking  a  superb  diamond  tiara  from 
its  case  he  leaned  towards  her  and  placed  it 
on  her  hair. 

"I  want  you,"  he  whispered,  "to  accept 
this  with  my " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  their 
eyes  met.  What  the  omitted  word  was  she 
was  left  to  guess. 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  Grayburn  had 
gone,  Lady  Phillida  and  Griselda  stood 
looking  at  each  other  half-mockingly,  half- 
admiringly.  Just  then  Ellis  brought  a  letter 
which  had  arrived  some  time  before.  It  was 
addressed  to  the  Right  Honorable  the 
Countess  of  Lomond,  and  was  postmarked, 
Tunbridge  Wells. 

Griselda  took  it,  turned  it  round,  looked 
at  the  coronet  in  gold  on  the  envelope, 
and  then  opened  it.  It  was  dated  from 
Rusthall  Court  that  morning. 

"Lady  Glenorchie,"  the  letter  ran,  "pre- 


26o  GRISELDA 

sents  her  compliments  to  Lady  Lomond, 
and  begs  the  favor  of  an  interview  on  any 
day  this  week  in  the  afternoon. ' ' 

Griselda  read  it  twice  and  then  handed  it 
to  Lady  Phillida. 

"I  will  not  see  her,"  the  girl  said. 

"You  must,"  the  answer  came. 


XV 

When  Lady  Glenorchie  left  Lomond 
Lodge  for  her  own  house  at  Tunbridge 
Wells  it  was  with  proud  outward  calm,  but 
hot  inward  indignation. 

"We  are  not  running  away,"  she  said  to 
her  son,  "we  are  only  leaving  a  fair  field  to 
our  opponent. ' '  And  yet  in  her  heart  she 
felt  that  it  was  flight. 

"We  shall  come  back,"  she  said,  "with 
our  right  established  beyond  question." 

And  yet  she  was  secretly,  almost  uncon- 
sciously, convinced  that  they  should  never 
return. 

It  was  part  of  her  unwilling  tribute  to 
Griselda,that  in  spite  of  herself  Lady  Glen- 
orchie admitted  the  girl's  rectitude,  cour- 
age, and  good  sense.  The  hostility  between 
the  two  had  had  from  the  first  its  root  in 
mutual  appreciation.  If  Griselda,  on  going 
to  Lomond  Lodge,  could  have  analyzed  what 
she  felt  she  would  have  said: 

"Here  is  an  hereditary,  fastidious  ele- 
261 


a64  GRISELDA 

gance  before  which  I  must  always  seem  new 
and  crude,  and  whose  esteem  I  can  never 
conquer." 

Lady  Glenorchie  had  she  gone  beneath 
her  gentle  haughtiness  and  avowed  what 
she  saw  there  would  have  said: 

"Here  is  a  youth  and  a  poise  and  a  cer- 
tainty of  self  before  which  I  must  seem 
faded,  and  which  will  push  me  into  the 
background." 

It  was  like  the  modern  face  to  face  with 
the  out-of-date,  or  the  New  World  confront- 
ing the  Old.  The  bitterest  drop  of  gall 
which  Lady  Glenorchie  was  compelled  to 
drink  lay  therefore  in  the  fact  that  the  cup 
was  forced  on  her  by  Griselda's  hand. 
From  any  one  else  she  could  have  better 
borne  it.  That  she  carried  herself  with  dig- 
nity, that  the  tact  and  grace  she  displayed 
in  a  most  difficult  situation  were  praised 
throughout  the  Three  Kingdoms,  that  public 
sympathy  was  strongly  with  her  son  and  her 
even  after  it  was  also  extended  to  Griselda, 
neither  concealed  nor  consoled  Lady  Glen- 
orchie's  own  sense  of  humiliation  and 
defeat.  It  was  the  first  great  personal  shock 
which  her  protected  life  had  experienced; 
it  was  the  first  time  that  the  hand  of  cir- 


GRISELDA  263 

cumstance  had  been  roughly  laid  upon 
her. 

She  did  her  best  to  think  and  to  make 
others  think  that  to  a  house  like  hers  even 
an  ancient  earldom  and  great  wealth  could 
give  no  increase  of  honor ;  they  were  like 
works  of  art  added  to  an  already  vast  collec- 
tion, acceptable  but  not  essential.  She 
spoke  freely  on  the  subject,  and  in  any  com- 
pany— simply,  without  sensitiveness,  but 
with  no  affectation  of  indifference.  Her 
whole  outward  carriage  was  that  of  a  woman 
gentle,  serene,  and  highly -bred.  If  she 
made  any  change  whatever  it  was  in  going 
a  little  more  into  the  world.  Exalted  sym- 
pathy had  commanded  her  to  Windsor, 
whither  she  had  gone.  Afterwards  she  had 
shown  herself  in  two  or  three  great  country 
houses.  Then  she  had  entertained  a  suc- 
cession of  shooting  parties  at  Glenorchie 
Castle.  Having  thus  done  enough  for  dig- 
nity she  withdrew  to  Tunbridge  Wells. 
Here  she  could  be  in  solitude;  here,  like  a 
nun  in  her  cloister,  she  could  wrestle  with 
her  conscience  in  seclusion ;  here  she  could 
try  to  soothe  her  soul  with  reading,  medita- 
tion, and  prayer. 

For  her  battle   was  not  only   with    her 


a64  GRISELDA 

pride ;  there  was  entering  on  the  field  the 
great  spiritual  warrior  called  Self-Upbraid- 
ing. He  seemed  at  first  to  come  down  from 
London,  when,  in  the  late  autumn,  Nigel, 
who  had  returned  to  his  Piccadilly  cham- 
bers, began  his  Saturday-to- Monday  visits 
to  Rusthall  Court.  Lady  Glenorchie  never 
stopped  wondering  what  her  son  was  nurs- 
ing in  his  heart.  From  the  night  of  Gris- 
elda's  departure  from  Lomond  Lodge  he 
never  spoke  of  her  as  of  other  than  a 
stranger.  He  had  come  back  from  London 
on  the  following  day  pale,  grave,  and  silent ; 
he  did  not  say,  but  the  mother  knew,  that 
he  had  seen  Griselda,  and  that  all  was  defi- 
nitely over. 

Lady  Glenorchie  had  expected  from  her 
son  some  word  of  reproach,  but  none  had 
ever  been  spoken ;  she  had  looked  for  some 
sign  of  estrangement,  but  none  had  ever 
come.  He  was  as  tender,  gentle  and  devoted 
as  heretofore.  If  he  suffered  he  said  noth- 
ing; if  his  suffering  was  due  to  her  he  was 
careful  she  should  not  suspect  it.  They 
spoke  freely  of  Griselda's  claim,  but  never 
directly  of  her.  Griselda's  solicitors  com- 
municated to  Glenorchie's  the  nature  of  the 
evidence  to  be  put  in,  and  this  was  fre- 


GRISELDA  265 

quently  discussed  at  Rusthall  Court,  but 
with  as  little  personal  reference  as  possible. 

Then  gradually  Lady  Glenorchie  knew 
that  her  son  was  dealing  gently  with  her, 
that  he  would  not  have  her  know  to  what 
extent  she  had  spoiled  his  life  and  wrecked 
his  happiness. 

As  time  went  on  they  both  fell  into  the 
habit  of  speaking  as  though  it  were  an 
accepted  fact  that  they  should  not  go  back 
to  Lomond  Lodge  or  wear  the  Lomond  hon- 
ors. This  meant  that  Griselda  had  been 
right;  and  if  right  that  she  had  intended  to 
act  towards  them  in  a  spirit  of  love,  consid- 
eration, and  self-sacrifice.  And  yet  they  did 
not  speak  of  it.  Nigel  could  not,  and  his 
mother  would  not.  When  she  had  fully 
grasped  the  fact  it  seemed  but  to  increase 
the  bitterness  she  felt  towards  this  girl  who 
had  not  only  proved  herself  strong  but  good. 
If  the  spiritual  warrior  Self -Upbraiding  had 
but  let  the  matter  rest  Lady  Glenorchie 
could  have  encased  her  conscience  in  the 
triple  steel  of  pride,  defiance,  and  indigna- 
tion; but  he  would  not.  He  came  down 
from  London  when  Nigel  came;  he  looked 
out  of  Nigel's  sad  blue  eyes;  he  showed 
himself  in  Nigel's  quiet  joyless  manner;  he 


266  GRISELDA 

was  strongest  of  all  in  Nigel's  smile,  and 
words  of  filial  love,  and  thoughtful  acts  of 
tenderness. 

The  son  returned  to  London,  but  in  time 
the  spiritual  warrior  went  away  no  more. 
He  stayed  with  the  mother,  walking  with 
her  in  the  garden,  whispering  to  her  in  her 
prayers,  coming  to  her  in  her  dreams. 

One  day,  as  the  winter  wore  on,  Lady 
Glenorchie  was  sitting  almost  alone  in  Rust- 
hall  Church.  It  was  a  week  day,  the  Feast 
of  the  Conversion  of  St.  Paul.  The  voice  of 
the  old  priest  who  read  was  weak  and  indis- 
tinct, and  Lady  Glenorchie 's  thoughts  were 
far  away.  Suddenly  it  seemed  as  if  a  mighty 
call,  tender  yet  terrible,  rang  along  the 
aisles:  "It  is  hard  for  thee  to  kick  against 
the  pricks. ' ' 

Lady  Glenorchie  started,  terrified  and 
trembling.  Was  it  only  the  voice  of  the  old 
man  at  the  altar?  Yes,  of  course.  He  had 
gone  on  at  once  with  the  words : 

"And  he  trembling  and  astonished  said, 
Lord,  what  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do?" 

She  steadied  herself,  and  said : 

"I  am  foolish.  It  was  my  imagination. 
That  had  nothing  to  do  with  me. " 

But  she  could  not   stay  in  the   church. 


GRISELDA  267 

She  went  out,  and  yet  could  not  go  home. 
She  crossed  the  Common  and  walked  as  far 
as  the  High  Rocks  before  she  felt  calm 
enough  to  face  the  solitude  of  her  own  house 
and  the  torture  of  her  thoughts. 

The  next  day  was  Saturday  and  Nigel 
would  come  down. 

"I  will  ask  him  to  stay  with  me  a  few 
days,"  she  said.  "Then  this  nervousness 
will  pass." 

The  next  day  he  came.  She  met  him  at 
the  door.  On  the  instant  when  his  grave 
face  lit  up  with  the  smile  of  greeting,  the 
strange  voice  rang  out  again,  not  aloud,  but 
in  her  heart:  "It  is  hard  for  thee  to  kick 
against  the  pricks." 

This  time  she  paid  no  heed.  Nigel  was 
there  with  his  kind  ways  and  his  budget  of 
London  news,  so  that  she  no  longer  feared 
the  silence  of  the  house,  and  the  ceaseless 
questioning  of  conscience.  In  her  son's 
company  she  so  soothed  and  strengthened 
and  defied  herself  that  she  entered  into  a 
time  of  what  she  thought  was  spiritual 
peace.  She  prayed  much,  and  soon  consid- 
ered herself  strong. 

Then,  a  fortnight  later  Nigel  came  again. 
It  was  a  few  days  after  the  last  hearing  of 


268  GRISELDA 

Griselda's  case  at  Westminster.  He  had  had 
made  for  his  mother  a  report  of  the  whole 
proceedings,  word  for  word,  so  that  no  detail 
might  be  unknown  to  her. 

It  was  late  at  night  when  he  arrived,  and 
he  was  very  tired.  Almost  at  once  he  kissed 
his  mother  good-night,  leaving  the  papers 
with  her. 

The  report  was  long,  but  Lady  Glenorchie 
never  raised  her  eyes  till  it  was  finished. 

"It  is  conclusive,"  she  said,  as  she  laid  it 
down.  "She  was  right.  She  has  won.  We 
must  be  brave,  but  it  is  useless  to  deny  our 
humiliation." 

Then  she  prayed  for  strength  to  bear  the 
blow  she  had  expected,  and  all  but  asked  for 
means  and  force  to  pay  it  back. 

That  night  she  woke  suddenly,  in  great 
terror,  with  the  sense  of  being  haunted. 
She  had  had  a  dreadful  dream,  of  what  she 
could  not  remember.  Only  the  words  with 
which  she  awaked  kept  ringing  in  her  mem- 
ory: "It  is  hard  for  thee  to  kick  against  the 
pricks. ' ' 

She  raised  herself  in  her  bed  and  peered 
into  the  darkness. 

"Lord,  what  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do?" 
she  whispered,  half-aloud. 


GRISELDA  269 

But  there  was  no  reply.  Through  her 
mind  there  surged  broken  recollections  of 
what  she  had  read  before  going  to  sleep, 
thoughts  of  Inversnaid,  Griselda  Grant,  and 
the  tragedy  in  the  west.  Then  slowly  there 
seemed  to  come  almost  into  vision  the  figure 
of  a  girl  in  white,  a  large  turquoise  at  her 
breast,  another  in  her  hair — a  motherless, 
friendless  girl,  smitten,  staggered,  driven  to 
bay,  forced  into  using  the  Truth  as  a  weapon 
in  her  own  defence. 

Lady  Glenorchie  fell  back  trembling  on 
her  pillow. 

"Lord,  what  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do? 
what  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do?"  she  mur- 
mured over  and  over  again;  but  there  was 
neither  voice,  nor  any  to  answer,  nor,  appar- 
ently, any  that  regarded.  She  was  left  to 
the  darkness  and  her  thoughts. 

She  said  nothing  to  Nigel  of  this  persist- 
ent cry  of  self-accusation.  She  was  glad  on 
this  occasion  when  he  went  back  to  London. 
She  wanted  to  be  alone,  to  fight  with  the 
spiritual  tormentor,  to  say  something  on  her 
own  behalf,  to  regain  her  peace  of  mind  and 
self-esteem. 

"I  have  not  been  unjust,"  she  insisted 
desperately  to  herself,  as  she  paced  the  leaf- 


27o  GRISELDA 

less  alleys  of  her  garden.  ' '  I  have  not  been 
proud,  I  have  not  been  unkind.  I  have  only 
upheld  my  rank.  I  have  only  protected  my 
own  dignity.  I  never  meant  to  strike  a 
defenceless  child.  I  never  tried  to  ruin  my 
son's  happiness." 

"It  is  hard  for  thee  to  kick  against  the 
pricks,"  argued  the  inexorable  voice. 

"I  do  not,"  she  replied,  as  though  answer- 
ing a  visible  accuser.  "I  am  not  resisting 
any  high  or  honorable  prompting.  If  I  have 
done  wrong  I  am  ready  to  make  amends. 
Only  I  cannot  humble  myself  to  her.  O 
God,  do  not  ask  that  of  me,"  her  heart  cried 
out  "I  could  not  come  to  that.  I  could 
forgive  her,  but  I  cannot  ask  for  her  for- 
giveness. I  never  can ;  I  never  will. ' ' 

And  yet  as  the  days  went  by  she  felt  her- 
self slowly  coming  to  her  knees.  Then 
there  was  a  moment  when  the  spiritual 
warrior  won,  when  the  haughty  woman's 
soul  lay  humbled,  in  the  dust,  defending 
itself  no  more,  confessing,  and  crying  out 
for  chastisement. 

There  had  been  a  long  night  of  struggle, 
followed  by  a  morning  of  resolve.  Nigel 
had  come  to  her  early  with  a  journal  in  his 
hand.  He  said  nothing ;  he  only  kissed  her, 


GRISELDA  a7i 

and  pointed  to  a  certain  paragraph,  three  or 
four  lines  at  most,  stating  that  the  Queen 
had  been  pleased  to  recognize  Griselda  Tul- 
loch  as  Countess  of  Lomond. 

Then  it  was  that  Lady  Glenorchie,  saying 
nothing  to  her  son,  had  written  the  letter 
which  Griselda,  diamond-crowned  and  glow- 
ing with  excitement,  had  tossed  aside  so 
scornfully. 

The  next  morning  the  girl  wrote  her 
reply. 

"Lady  Lomond " 

Griselda  smiled  bitterly  at  the  thought 
that  the  first  time  she  herself  should  use  the 
title  should  be  in  writing  to  the  woman  who 
more  than  any  one  in  the  world  would  have 
kept  it  from  her. 

"Lady  Lomond  presents  her  compliments 
to  Lady  Glenorchie,  and  regrets " 

Then  she  stopped.  Could  she,  dared  she 
refuse  to  see  Nigel's  mother,  even  though 
coming  to  make  her  suffer  more  keenly  than 
before.  No;  Lady  Phillida  was  right;  she 
must  see  her,  but  it  should  be  once  for 
all. 

"Lady  Lomond  presents  her  compliments 
to  Lady  Glenorchie,"  she  wrote  again,  "and 
begs  to  say  that  she  will  be  at  Lady  Phillida 


273  GRISELDA 

Wimpole's  house  in  Queen's  Gate  on  Friday 
afternoon  from  two  o'clock  till  six. " 

It  was  after  four  when  Lady  Glenorchie 
came.  Griselda  was  already  nervous  with 
the  long  two  hours  of  expectation.  At  the 
moment  when  the  footman  threw  the  door 
open  and  Lady  Glenorchie  entered  Griselda 
was  sitting  at  the  furthest  end  of  the  long 
room.  She  rose,  but  neither  came  forward 
nor  held  out  her  hand,  moved  by  dread 
rather  than  discourtesy.  Lady  Glenorchie, 
sensitive  to  all  the  social  significance  of  act 
and  attitude,  traversed  the  room's  great 
length,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  slight,  girl- 
ish figure  in  simple  black,  relieved  only  by 
the  shimmer  of  a  silver  girdle.  Griselda,  on 
her  side,  frightened  as  she  was,  noted  half- 
unconsciously  the  richness  of  Lady  Glen- 
orchie's  sables,  and  the  incomparable  grace 
which  carried  them. 

When  they  came  face  to  face  Griselda 
bowed  slightly  and  coldly.  Lady  Glenorchie 
responded,  keeping  her  hands  in  her  muff. 

Now  that  she  had  come  she  scarcely  knew 
what  she  had  to  say. 

"I  must  thank  you,"  she  began,  "for  hav- 
ing consented ' ' 

MWon't  you  sit  down?"  Griselda  said,  indi- 


GRISELDA  »73 

eating  a  chair  and  seating  herself  as  she 
spoke. 

"For  having  consented  to  see  me,"  Lady 
Glenorchie  continued,  also  taking  a  seat. 

Griselda  looked  at  her,  but  said  nothing. 
She  was  thinking  of  the  woman,  not  of  her 
words.  She  felt  a  renewal  of  the  envy  and 
anger  which  had  so  often  excited  her  at 
Ascot — envy  of  this  air  of  serene  superior- 
ity, anger  at  its  tranquil  exclusion  of  herself. 

But  at  this  moment  Lady  Glenorchie  was 
not  serene.  Before  Griselda's  lack  of  re- 
sponse she  felt  helpless  and  unnerved. 

"I  hope  I  am  not  taking  your  time " 

she  began  again. 

"No,"  Griselda  said  coldly;  "I  am  at 
leisure. ' ' 

"I  have  come  straight  from  Tunbridge 
Wells.  I  wanted  to  see  you.  When  my  son 
told  me  this  morning " 

She  stopped;  she  did  not  know  how  to 
go  on. 

"Yes,  Lady  Glenorchie?"  Griselda  said, 
with  a  slight  lifting  of  the  eyebrows  and  an 
air  of  gently  ironical  attention. 

"I  wanted  to  see  you — I  wanted  to  tell 
you "  Lady  Glenorchie  went  on  help- 
lessly, becoming  more  and  more  confused. 


274  GRISELDA 

"You  wanted  to  tell  me "  Griselda 

said,  with  condescending  courtesy,  after  a 
long  pause. 

"When  we  saw  that  the  Queen — my  son 
doesn't  know  that  I  have  come — I  wanted  to 
be  among  the  very  first " 

The  poor  lady  stammered  piteously ;  she 
was  on  new  ground ;  she  was  playing  a  part 
outside  all  the  range  of  her  experience,  and 
beyond  the  command  of  her  imagination. 
She  knew  how  to  be  proud ;  it  was  harder 
than  she  supposed  to  be  humble. 

"My  son  doesn't  know  that  I  have  come," 
she  began  again.  "I  dared  not  tell  him. 
He  would  not  have  understood — he  would 
never  have  permitted  me " 

"Lady  Glenorchie,  what  does  this  mean?" 
Griselda  demanded  haughtily.  "What  has 
your  son  to  do  either  with  me  or  with  this 
meeting?  Do  you  come  on  his  behalf?" 

"No,  on  mine,"  the  older  woman 
answered,  confused  yet  angered  by  Gris- 
elda's  tone.  "I  come  only  on  my  own 
behalf.  I  have  not  forgotten  the  night  you 
left  us  at  Ascot " 

"Nor  I,"  said  Griselda. 

"And  I  wanted  you  to  understand  that  my 
son  and  I — that  is,  that  I,  I  alone,  regret, 


t  GRISELDA  275 

deeply  regret,  that  you  should  have  been 
made  to  feel  that  we  looked  upon  you — that 
is,  that  we  mistook  you — mistook  you — how 
shall  I  put  it? — mistook  you  for  another  sort 
of  person " 

Griselda  rose. 

"Need  we  continue  this  conversation?" 
she  asked  quietly,  but  with  eyes  flashing-  and 
lips  almost  white. 

Lady  Glenorchie  rose  too,  trembling  with 
a  loss  of  self  -  control  such  as  had  never 
before  come  to  her,  angry  with  Griselda  and 
still  more  so  with  herself. 

"You  [will  not  let  me  say  it,"  she  cried, 
the  tears  starting  to  her  eyes. 

"I  will  not  listen  again  to  insult.  I  have 
already  borne  too  much." 

"I  did  not  come  to  insult  you  again." 

"Then  for  what?" 

1 '  I  came  to  speak  of  what  I  said  that  night 
at  Ascot " 

"And  to  ask  my  pardon  for  it?" 

"No,  to  repeat  it,"  Lady  Glenorchie 
cried,  utterly  beside  herself,  stung  by  what 
seemed  to  her  a  wilful  misinterpretation  of 
her  errand.  She  stood  white  and  motion- 
less, watching  the  effect  of  her  words  upon 
Griselda's  face,  as  an  archer  follows  the 


276  GRISELDA 

flight  of  his  arrow  till  it  strikes  the  victim's 
side. 

Griselda  felt  like  a  fallen  man  who  has 
been  struck  a  second  time  in  his  attempt  to 
rise.  For  a  moment  the  two  blanched 
women  looked  each  other  in  the  eyes.  When 
Griselda  spoke  it  was  in  the  low  voice  of 
passion  which  expresses  itself  deliberately 
and  with  self-control. 

"Then,  having  said  it,  will  you  go?" 

"Yes,  I  will  go,"  Lady  Glenorchie  cried, 
moving  nearer  and  finding  utterance  at  last. 
"I  will  go,  but  not  before  I  tell  you  that  you 
are  cruel,  revengeful,  and  unkind.  I  am  an 
old  woman,  and  a  proud  woman,  and  yet  I 
came  to  humble  myself  to  you — to  you,  a 
girl,  almost  a  child.  I  came  to  throw  my- 
self in  the  dust  before  you,  to  pour  out  my 
heart,  to  tell  you  that  I  have  been  a  wicked 
woman,  unjust  to  you  and  heartless  towards 
my  son.  I  came  to  ask  your  pity  as  I  have 
asked  my  God's." 

"Oh,  Lady  Glenorchie!"  Griselda  cried, 
flushing  scarlet  to  the  very  temples. 

But  the  older  woman  went  on  rapidly, 
pouring  out  confession  and  reproach 
together. 

"Do  you  think  it  was  not  hard?     Do  you 


GRISELDA  277 

think  that  after  the  words  I  have  spoken  to 
you  in  the  past  it  was  easy  to  drag  myself 
before  you  now?  Do  you  think  that  after 
all  the  wrong  I  have  done  you  it  was  a  light 
thing  to  come  and  say  that  you  were  right? 
After  all  that  you  have  taken  from  us,  do 
you  think  that  I  could  come  with  eager  step 
and  fluent  words  to  tell  you  it  is  justly  yours 
and  that  I  am  glad  it  is  in  your  hands?  I 
have  come,  but  I  have  come  like  a  woman 
going  towards  death.  Confession  may  be  a 
pleasant  thing  to  you;  it  is  a  very  bitter 
draught  to  me,  and  yet  you  would  not  let 
me  drink  it.  I  have  been  hard  to  you,  1 
have  hated  you ' ' 

"No,  no,"  Griselda  cried  again,  terrified 
at  this  sudden  glimpse  into  the  secrets  of 
another  woman's  soul.  "Don't,  don't;  I 
can't  bear  it " 

"Let  me  go  on,"  Lady  Glenorchie  inter- 
rupted, in  the  very  passion  of  self -accusa- 
tion. "Let  me  make  an  end.  It  is  true.  I 
hated  you.  I  plotted  against  you.  And  yet 
underneath  it  all  there  was  something  else, 
I  don't  know  what,  a  something  which  drew 
me  to  you,  but  which  I  fought  against  and 
would  not  own.  Long  ago,  in  the  Ascot 
days,  I  knew  that  it  was  there.  Since  then 


278  GRISELDA 

— since  that  dreadful  night  when  we  last 
stood  face  to  face — it  has  been  calling  within 
me  like  a  dumb  man's  cry,  piteous,  inartic- 
ulate— only  I  would  not  heed.  Now,  at  last, 
I  have  heeded,  now  I  have  come  to  you, 
asking  you  to  forgive,  asking  you  for  peace, 
and  because  I  am  unnerved  you  are 
annoyed,  and  because  I  cannot  put  into  easy 
words  the  torture  of  my  soul,  you  order  me 
to  go.  Yes,  I  will  go.  It  is  the  crowning 
act  of  my  humiliation  to  have  come.  But  at 
least  my  soul  will  have  found  rest  when  the 
anguish  will  have  descended  upon  yours." 

She  turned  and  moved  swiftly  towards  the 
door.  She  had  spoken  rapidly,  without  ges- 
tures, her  hands  imprisoned  in  her  muff,  but 
with  eager  eyes  looking  down  into  Gris- 
elda's.  It  had  all  been  so  sudden,  so  sur- 
prising that  Lady  Glenorchie  had  almost 
reached  the  door  before  the  girl  found  voice. 

"No,  no!  Don't  go!  Come  back!"  she 
cried. 

Lady  Glenorchie  turned  suddenly,  and 
they  looked  at  each  other.  For  a  moment 
neither  stirred.  Then  Griselda  took  a  step 
forward,  hesitating,  doubtful,  as  though 
moving  in  a  dream.  Lady  Glenorchie  came 
slowly,  also  doubtfully,  to  meet  her.  They 


GRISELDA  279 

stood  again  face  to  face.  And  then,  with  a 
low  cry  in  which  there  was  both  joy  and  pain 
— with  a  yearning  in  which  there  was  both 
defeat  and  victory,  the  girl  threw  herself 
into  the  older  woman's  arms.  - 

That  night  at  dinner  Lady  Glenorchie  was 
for  the  first  time  in  long  months  like  her 
former  self.  Paul  de  Marignan  was  there, 
Nigel  having  brought  him  from  London  to 
spend  a  few  days  at  Rusthall  Court. 

"Will  you  let  Nigel  come  with  me  to 
Paris?"  the  painter  asked. 

"Yes,  willingly,  for  a  little  while,"  Lady 
Glenorchie  said. 

"And  then  to  the  Riviera?" 

"Certainly,  if  you  take  good  care  of  him. 
I  think  the  change  will  do  him  good. ' 

Later  the  two  men  were  smoking  in  the 
library.  Lady  Glenorchie  came  in  to  say 
good-night.  They  rose  as  she  entered ;  Mar- 
ignan, with  his  quick  powers  of  observation, 
remarked  that  her  air  was  grave. 

"I  have  something  to  say,  Nigel,"  she 
began,  "before  I  go  upstairs." 

She  spoke  slowly  with  a  certain  hesita- 
tion, but  with  none  of  the  confusion  she  had 
displayed  in  the  afternoon. 

"Don't  go,  Monsieur  de  Marignan,"  she 


280  GRISELDA 

added,  as  the  artist  seemed  about  to  with- 
draw. "I  want  specially  to  say  it  before 
you. ' ' 

"She  paused,  and  then  went  on  again. 

"I  have  been  to  London  to-day.  I  have 
seen  Lady  Lomond." 

"Mother!" 

"She  has  forgiven  the  great  wrong  I  have 
done  her.  I  want  you,  my  son,  to  forgive 
me  too." 

For  an  instant  all  three  stood  still  and 
silent.  Then  Glenorchie  moved  towards  his 
mother  and  folded  her  in  his  arms. 

"I  shall  be  happier  now,  in  spite  of  all," 
he  murmured  tenderly. 

"I  too,"  she  said. 

As  Marignan  held  open  the  door  for  her 
she  offered  him  her  hand.  He  bent  low  and 
kissed  it  reverently. 

"Good-night,  dear  brother  of  my  son," 
she  said  to  him  in  French;  and  so  passed 
on. 

Marignan  closed  the  door  behind  her  and 
returned  to  where  Nigel  stood  before  the 
fire. 

"Does  this  mean  peace?" 

"No,"  said  Glenorchie,  "not  for  me." 

"And  yet  you  are  glad?" 


GRISELDA  *8i 

"Yes,  because  now  my  mother  under- 
stands." 

"And  if  she  understands  cannot  you 
make  all  the  rest  come  right?" 

"No;  it  is  too  late  for  that." 

"You  mean  that  you  could  not  marry  a 
woman  who  has  taken  so  much  from  you?" 

"I  mean  that,  partly.  I  should  have  the 
air  of  trying  to  steal  it  back." 

"You  are  afraid  of  what  the  world  would 
say?" 

"I  am." 

"That  seems  unworthy  of  a  man  like 
you. ' ' 

"It  may  be  unworthy,  but  public  opinion 
has  its  weight." 

"Not  seriously.  Happily  I  know  you  too 
well.  You  will  not,  when  it  comes  to  the 
test,  spoil  your  own  life  and  another's 
because  you  have  not  the  courage  to  be 
slandered. ' ' 

"Dear  old  chap,"  said  Glenorchie,  look- 
ing Marignan  frankly  in  the  face,  "I  know 
you  are  my  friend  and  that  you  wish  me 
well.  Let  me  then  say  once  for  all  that  I 
could  not  marry  Lady  Lomond  if  I  would, 
for  she  is  going  to  marry  some  one  else. ' ' 

"Already?" 


282  GRISELDA 

"Already." 

Marignan  said  nothing,  but  turning  from 
Glenorchie  walked  across  the  room.  He 
seemed  to  be  t  engrossed  for  some  moments 
in  reading  the  titles  of  the  books  which 
lined  the  wall.  When  he  came  back  towards 
the  fire  Nigel  was  sitting  down,  his  elbows 
on  his  knees,  and  his  face  buried  in  his 
hands.  Marignan  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
young  man's  head. 

"You  do  not  think  her  heartless?" 

"No,"  said  Glenorchie  without  looking  up. 

"You  have  not  lost  your  faith  in  her?" 

"No." 

"You  have  not  lost  your  love?" 

The  question  came  from  him  gently, 
almost  solemnly.  Glenorchie  shook  his 
head. 

"Live  like  that,"  Marignan  said  softly 
and  with  affection.  "Live  like  that  and 
love  like  that;  and  then  some  day — who 
knows?  The  good  God  does  not  make  mis- 
takes." 

Then  going  to  the  mantel-piece  he  took 
another  cigarette  and  began  to  smoke. 


PART  III 


XVI 

"How  silent!"  said  Lady  Phillida. 

"And  how  still!"  said  Grayburn. 

"The  Italian  sky  never  seems  so  blue," 
Lady  Phillida  remarked,  "as  when  one  sees 
it  as  now,  framed  between  those  huge  gray 
columns,  or  as  when  one  looks  upward  at  it 
through  some  such  roofless  expanse  as  this. 
I  think  it  is  even  bluer  so  than  when  seen 
behind  the  dark  green  foliage  of  the  ilex- 
trees. " 

"I  never  thought  there  were  so  many 
daffodils  in  the  world,"  said  Grayburn. 
"Just  look  out  there  through  the  doorway, 
it  is  like  a  field  of  gold. ' ' 

"And  to  think  that  they  have  been  bloom- 
ing season  after  season,  just  like  this,  for 
over  two  thousand  years.  Paestum,  one  of 
the  guide  books  says,  was  famous  for  its 
flowers.  It  supplied  the  markets  of  Rome 
and  Naples,  just  as  the  Riviera  does  to-day." 

"Only  the  gardens  could  not  have  been 
just  here,"  Grayburn  said  idly.  "All 
around  where  we  'are  now  there  must  have 
<  285 


286  GRISELDA 

been  streets  and  squares,  almost  over  to 
where  you  see  that  broad  blue  band  of  sea. ' ' 

They  were  sitting  in  one  of  the  three  vast, 
lonely  temples  which  mark  the  site  of  the 
vanished  Greek  city  south  of  Salerno. 

From  London  they  had  come  straight  to 
Italy,  spending  nearly  a  month  in  Florence. 
Then  they  had  decided  to  visit  Naples 
before  the  weather  became  too  warm, 
returning  afterwards  to  Rome,  where  Gray- 
burn  and  Griselda  were  to  be  married. 
From  Naples  they  had  gone  on  the  preced- 
ing day  to  La  Cava,  in  order  to  have  the 
morning  in  which  to  visit  Paestum,  and  to 
reach  Amalfi  before  evening. 

Grayburn  and  Lady  Phillida  had  come 
alone,  for  Griselda  had  been  too  tired  to  leave 
La  Cava. 

"I  will  stay  with  you,"  Lady  Phillida  had 
said,  that  morning.  "Mr.  Grayburn  can  go 
alone  to  Pesto  and  we  shall  meet  him  with 
the  carriage  at  Salerno  in  the  afternoon,  and 
go  on  together  to  Amalfi." 

But  Grayburn  had  insisted  in  his  dom- 
inant, unreasonable  way,  till  at  last  Griselda 
had  said: 

"Please  go  with  him,  dear  Lady  Phillida. 
We  shall  never  make  him  understand  that 


GRISELDA  287 

we  don't  mind  missing  his  grewsome  tem- 
ples and  that  we  could  amuse  ourselves 
better  in  our  way  than  in  his.  For  good- 
ness' sake  let  us  do  what  he  wants  and  keep 
him  quiet." 

So  Lady  Phillida,  with  a  smile  and  a 
groan,  yielded  to  what  seemed  necessity. 
It  was  thus  they  had  lived  for  more  than  a 
month,  Grayburn,  eager,  impetuous,  tire- 
less, determined  to  see  everything  and  make 
them  see  it  too ;  they,  straining  themselves 
in  mind  and  body  to  keep  his  pace,  with 
little  of  the  sight-seer's  zeal,  but  coaxed  on, 
goaded  on,  by  the  restless  will  they  had  set 
themselves  to  please.  Many  a  time  Griselda 
had  slipped  unseen  out  of  some  picture- 
gallery  or  storied  church,  just  to  rest  her 
eyes  by  looking  at  a  blank  stone  wall,  or  to 
give  her  spirit  a  breathing-spell  by  watching 
the  black-eyed  children  in  the  streets.  It 
was  always  Lady  Phillida  who  stood  faith- 
fully to  her  task,  making  it  her  duty  to  study 
the  guide-books  and  keep  by  Gray  burn's 
side,  to  answer  his  questions  and  explain  the 
things  he  did  not  know,  to  humor  him  and 
teach  him,  to  lead  him  and  follow  him,  to 
do  everything  in  her  power,  and  even  be- 
yond her  power,  to  keep  up  with  that  sense 


288  GRISELDA 

of  mastery  which  now  would  comprehend 
and  conquer  Italy,  as  it  had  wrung  its 
resources  from  the  west. 

Alone  together  Griselda  and  Lady  Phil- 
lida  spoke  of  Grayburn  as  of  a  wilful,  incor- 
rigible child,  neither  to  be  commanded  nor 
cajoled;  and  yet  they  had  already  formed 
the  habit  of  living  in  the  spirit  of  his  will. 
Against  this  unconscious  kindly  tyranny 
Griselda  was  rebellious ;  but  forced  herself 
to  bend  to  the  yoke  which  she  knew  must  be 
hers  through  life.  Lady  Phillida,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  eager  to  be  meek,  sighing 
to  think  that  she  should  soon  be  free.  She 
dreaded  these  moments  alone  with  Gray- 
burn  ;  she  dreaded  his  ceaseless  expressions 
of  admiration  and  regard ;  but,  she  told  her- 
self, these  would  be  her  memories  after  the 
wedding  day  in  Rome.  In  going  to  Rome 
she  felt  herself  climbing  up  to  the  brink  of 
some  stupendous  precipice,  where  the  path 
broke  off,  and  beyond  which  all  was  blank. 

So  they  had  come  together  to  Pesto.  They 
had  lunched  in  the  Temple  of  Ceres,  on  the 
steps  of  which  the  courier  and  servants 
could  still  be  seen  feasting  on  the  fragments. 

Then  Grayburn  and  Lady  Phillida  had 
strolled  across  the  fields  to  that  central  tern- 


GRISELDA  289 

pie,  the  great  basilica,  whose  simple  majesty 
and  overwhelming  loneliness  are  not  only 
impressive  to  the  senses  but  smiting  to  the 
heart. 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  quite  felt  before 
that  this  earth  has  a  past,"  said  Gray  burn, 
as  they  went  on  amid  the  daffodils.  "Out 
there  in  the  west  the  world  seemed  not  only 
new  but  virgin.  In  America  one  has 
always  a  certain  sense  that  oneself  is  a 
discoverer.  There  is  so  much  to  do  and  see 
and  learn  that  one  feels  as  if  one's  own  foot 
were  the  first  to  tread  the  spot  on  which 
one  stands." 

"And  here,"  said  Lady  Phillida,  "the 
very  soil  is  hard  with  the  ruins  of  another 
civilization.  Look,"  she  went  on  unearthing 
with  the  point  of  her  parasol  broken  bits  of 
pottery.  "These  things  were  used  and 
handled  by  those  who  had  turned  to  dust 
centuries  before  Christ  was  born.  The  very 
daffodils  push  their  way  up  amid  the  frag- 
ments of  what  these  people  have  left 
behind. ' ' 

"Was  there  ever  such  desertion?"  Gray- 
burn  said,  awed,  subdued,  submitting  to 
this  overpowering  presence  of  the  past,  as 
he  rarely  yielded  either  to  emotions  or  to 


29o  GRISELDA 

men.  "As  you  stand  and  look  at  that  tem- 
ple over  there,  and  think  that  once  there 
were  hundreds  of  men  and  women  crowding 
up  the  steps,  that  priests  were  chanting,  and 
girls  were  walking  in  procession  with  flutes 
and  flowers,  like  one  of  those  pictures  by 
Alma  Tadema — and  now  they  are  all  gone ! 
— it  is  awful.  It  is  the  very  triumph  of 
Death.  I  never  felt  before  that  I  could  die. 
I  have  always  seemed  so  living,  as  if  my 
heart  could  not  stop  beating,  nor  my  blood 
cease  to  run.  Now  I  realize  that  I  too  shall 
be  wiped  out  like  the  rest. ' ' 

"At  Pompeii  the  other  day,"  said  Lady 
Phillida,  "I  felt  as  if  I  had  died,  as  if  I  had 
gone  into  a  gray  world  of  universal  dust  and 
ashes,  where  there  was  neither  joy  nor  sor- 
row any  more,  but  only  an  uniform,  passion- 
less life-in-death.  Here  on  the  contrary, 
I  feel  that  I  have  survived.  Under  our  feet 
is  the  past;  over  there  in  the  temples  is 
desertion ;  but  we  are  breathing  the  air  of 
spring,  and  walking  among  the  daffodils. 
The  very  fact  that  we  are  alive  seems  heart- 
less, when  so  much  else  has  had  to  die  and 
disappear. ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Grayburn,  "this  Old  World 
solitude  where  man  has  been  and  gone  is 


GRISELDA  291 

much  more  terrible  than  the  New  World 
wilderness  where  man  has  never  come." 

"Ah,  here,"  Lady  Phillida  said,  stopping 
in  their  walk;  "here  we  have  the  three  tem- 
ples in  line." 

"How  simple  the  conception,"  Grayburn 
said,  "but  how  indescribably  stately  the 
result." 

"They  are  like  the  sentinels  of  time,  look- 
ing out  on  the  great  sea  of  history. ' ' 

' '  To  me  they  are  like  the  primeval  giants 
who  have  outlived  the  very  twilight  of  the 
gods, — brooding,  sleepless,  speechless,  for- 
gotten but  never  forgetting,  waiting  for 
eternity. " 

' '  How  different  one  feels, ' '  Lady  Phillida 
said,  moving  on  again,  "before  our  northern 
ruins,  at  Netley,  or  Tintern,  or  Jumieges. 
There  one  also  feels  the  past,  but  not  a 
crushing,  hopeless,  heart-breaking  past  like 
this.  Here  it  is  the  past  that  beats  one 
down;  there  the  past  that  lifts  one  up. 
Here  the  very  daffodils  seem  to  bloom  in 
mockery  of  the  life  of  man;  there  the  ivy 
clings  and  the  roses  climb  and  twine  and 
make  you  feel,  however  dull  your  heart  is, 
that  somewhere  up  'beyond  these  voices 
there  is  Peace.'  " 


292  GRISELDA 

So  they  talked  on  and  by  and  by  when 
they  were  tired  came  to  sit  in  the  cool 
interior  of  the  temple. 

"This  is  the  most  southerly  point  that  we 
shall  touch,"  Grayburn  said,  when  they  had 
spoken  of  many  other  things. 

"Yes;  when  we  start  from  here  this  after- 
noon we  shall  be  in  a  sense  beginning  our 
journey  home  again. ' ' 

"I  am  glad  that  we  have  had  this  day 
together.  I  suppose  it  will  be  the  last 
before  we  return  to  Rome." 

"I  am  sorry  Griselda  couldn't  have 
come. ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course.  But  still  we  couldn't 
have  been  alone  like  this  if  she  had. ' ' 

"I  suppose  it  would  have  tired  her  too 
much. ' ' 

"I  hope  it  hasn't  tired  you,"  he  asked, 
with  sudden  tenderness. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "It  has 
given  me  great  pleasure." 

"And  me  also,"  he  said  simply.  "It  has 
made  me  feel  as  if  we  were  alone  together 
in  life." 

"With  a  courier  and  two  servants — a  soli- 
tude with  light  and  attendance." 

"I  like  that.     Good  service  is  essential  to 


GRISELDA  293 

the  best  seclusion.  It  lifts  one  up  above  the 
material,  and  so  stimulates  meditation." 

"I  am  fortunate  in  having  friends  who 
can  offer  me  moments  of  both.  After  this 
luxurious  trip  to  Italy  my  Aunt  Perthshire 
has  written  to  ask  me  to  go  with  her  into 
Spain.  She  always  travels  with  a  courier 
and  a  whole  household  of  domestics. ' ' 

"And  you  have  replied ?" 

"That  I  will  go." 

"When?" 

"I  am  to  join  her  on  the  twenty-eighth; 
always,  of  course,  on  the  supposition  that 
your  wedding  is  to  be  on  Easter  Tuesday." 

"And  afterwards?     After  Spain?" 

"Norway,  perhaps,  on  the  invitation  of 
my  brother  Hull;  or  else  the  terra  incognita 
of  my  next  ward  in  Chancery." 

"You  are  not  going  to  begin  that  life 
again?" 

"Certainly.  You  are  taking  Griselda  from 
me.  I  must  look  for  some  one  else." 

"Do  you  like  doing  it?" 

"I  did,"  she  answered  frankly.  "No 
doubt  I  shall  again." 

"Only  for  the  moment  you  have  no  heart 
to  put  into  it?" 

"Perhaps.     But  that  is  nothing " 


294  GRISELDA 

"On  the  contrary  that  is  everything.  It 
means  that  you  have  passed  beyond  that 
phase.  Life  is  not  a  fixed  condition ;  it  is  a 
growth,  of  which  one  part  is  the  preparation 
for  another.  We  don't  stand  still;  we  must 
move  on.  It  is  the  heart  that  tells  us  when 
the  moment  comes  to  go." 

"Go  where?" 

"Go  where  the  new  work  lies  and  the  new 
happiness  is  to  be  found. ' ' 

"Then  that  moment  cannot  yet  have  come 
to  me. ' ' 

"Again  I  must  contradict  you.  It  is 
here." 

"Here?     Where?     I  don't  understand." 

She  tried  to  laugh,  but  colored  uneasily  in 
spite  of  herself. 

"Look  at  me  and  listen,"  he  said,  in  his 
resolute,  authoritative  way. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  but  his  face 
was  so  near  hers  that  she  lowered  them 
again. 

"When  we  go  back  to  Rome  you  mean  to 
leave  us?" 

"Yes." 

"Does  that  seem  right?  Is  that  what 
your  heart  counsels  you?" 

"It  seems  inevitable." 


GRISELDA 


295 


"After  the  way  in  which  we  have  been 
drawn  together  for  the  past  eight  months, 
after  this  intimacy,  after  the  dependence 
with  which  we  have  learnt  to  lean  on  you, 
does  it  seem  fair  to  leave  us  in  the  lurch  like 
that?  What  are  we  to  do?  What  am  I  to 
do?  Griselda,  of  course,  will  have  me ;  but 
I  shall  have " 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Lady  Phillida. 
"You  must  not  talk  like  that." 

"Must  not  talk?  Why  shouldn't  I  talk? 
Do  you  imagine  that  I  will  let  you  go  with- 
out a  protest?  Do  you  imagine  that  I  will 
let  you  go  at  all?" 

"Mr.  Grayburn, "  she  said,  very  quietly, 
"I  don't  know  what  is  in  your  mind.  I 
don't  know  what  conceptions  you  may  have 
of  life.  You  have  lived  so  long  and  so  far 
absent  from  our  conventional  methods  of 
saying  things  and  doing  them  that  I  am 
often  puzzled  to  understand " 

"That's  it,"  he  interrupted  hastily,  "you 
don't  understand.  You  don't  understand 
anything  of  what  I  mean  or  feel  or  want  to 
do.  You  are  so  far  above  me,  so  beautiful, 
so  courted,  so  adored,  that  you  don't  realize 
how  I  have  come  to  turn  to  you  in 
every " 


296  GRISELDA 

"Stop!"  she  cried,  springing  to  her  feet. 
"Stop!  I  can  hear  no  more." 

"You  shall  hear  more,"  he  said  fiercely, 
rising  and  stopping  the  way  as  she  would 
have  escaped  from  the  temple.  "You  shall 
hear  all.  You  shall  hear  how  I  cannot  live 
without  you,  how  I  must  keep  you  near  me, 
how  I  love  you,  how ' ' 

"And  Griselda?"  she  cried  sternly. 

He  stopped  short,  silent,  perplexed, 
astounded. 

4  *  Good  God ! "  he  breathed  at  last.  ' '  What 
does  this  mean?" 

"Yes;  what  does  it  mean?"  she  insisted. 

He  brushed  his  hand  hastily  across  his 
brow  as  though  something  were  obscuring 
his  thought. 

"Tell  me,  Lady  Phillida,'"  he  said,  com- 
ing a  step  nearer,  "tell  me  what  all  this  is. 
I've  lost  my  way. " 

"Or  is  it  that  you  are  finding  it?" 

"I  am  going  to  marry  Griselda,"  he 
went  on  as  though  stating  the  case  to  him- 
self. "I  am  going  to  marry  her — it  has 
always  been  my  plan — because  she  bears  a 
great  name  and  holds  a  great  position,  and 
I  have  meant  to  rise  from  her  level  to  some- 
thing higher  still.  I  have  never  made  any 


GRISELDA  297 

pretence  of  marrying  her  otherwise  than 
from  ambition;  and  now! — O  Eternal  God, 
what  a  miserable  fool  I've  been!" 

He  turned  from  her  and  walked  hurriedly 
across  the  temple.  Leaning  against  a  pillar 
he  looked  out  over  the  golden  flowered 
fields,  beyond  the  wandering  herds  of  buffalo 
to  where  the  blue  band  of  the  Mediterra- 
nean bounded  the  horizon.  Lady  Phillida 
did  not  move.  A  long  half  hour  passed. 
She  waited  till  he  should  come  back  to  her. 
When  he  came  there  was  something  in  his 
face  that  she  had  never  seen  before.  There 
was  shock,  surprise,  and  something  else, 
something  indefinable,  indescribable,  like 
the  dawning  of  a  hope  for  some  new, 
undreamt-of  joy.  One  would  have  said  that 
the  Dagon  of  self-love  had  fallen,  and  that 
in  its  place  had  come  a  ray  of  light  from  the 
Ark  of  God. 

When  he  turned  from  the  pillar  he  came 
rapidly  towards  her. 

"You  too?"  he  said  hoarsely  and  in  the 
deep  demanding  voice  of  the  man  who  can- 
not yet  believe. 

She  understood  him. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  simply. 

There  was  a  long  moment  in  which  they 


298  GRISELDA 

read  each  other's  thoughts  in  each  other's 
eyes. 

"How  you  must  despise  me!"  he  said  at 
last. 

"No." 

"But  you  will  not  refuse  to  help  me?" 

"No." 

"And  you  will  never  leave  me?" 

"No." 

"Then,"  he  said,  taking  her  arm  and 
drawing  it  through  his,  "let  us  go  and  tell 
Griselda. ' ' 

And  so  they  left  the  temple. 


XVII 

As  Griselda  sat  that  evening  on  the  hotel 
balcony  at  Amalfi  she  wondered  what  had 
happened  to  her  two  friends  during  their 
visit  to  Pesto. 

She  had  met  them  with  the  carriage  at 
Salerno,  and  on  the  drive  from  that  place  to 
Amalfi  they  had  been  silent  and  pre-occu- 
pied.  Grayburn,  usually  vivacious  and  rest- 
lessly interested  in  all  he  saw,  had  sat  gazing 
absently  into  the  distance,  heedless  of  the 
wonderful  vision  of  white  city  and  curving 
bay,  wild  coast  line  and  blue  sea  which 
spread  itself  out  above,  below  and  around 
them.  Now  and  then  he  would  call  atten- 
tion to  some  party  of  peasants  who  left  their 
work  to  come  and  beg,  or  to  some  village 
sheltering  itself  in  the  recesses  of  a  lonely 
gorge,  but  he  did  so  apparently  without 
interest,  and  not  looking  the  second  time  at 
the  object  to  which  he  directed  them. 

Lady  Phillida,  too,  was  not  as  she  had 
been  during  their  month  of  travel.  She  had 
never  heretofore  been  without  a  certain  air 
299 


300  GRISELDA 

of  effort,  easily  evident  to  another  woman's 
eye.  To-day,  for  the  first  time  in  weeks, 
she  was  simply  herself.  She  took  no  more 
interest  in  the  beauty  of  the  scene  than  did 
Grayburn ;  she  appeared  to  be  dreaming ;  the 
sense  of  having  to  play  a  part  seemed  to 
have  left  her;  one  would  have  said  that  she 
was  resting,  and  quietly  rejoicing. 

Griselda  had  noted  this  without  thinking 
much  about  it.  She  herself  had  been  so 
uplifted  by  the  splendors  of  earth,  sea,  and 
sky  that  she  had  no  mind  for  lesser  things. 
Tired  and  listless  as  she  had  been,  she 
had  felt  comforted  for  the  moment  in  the 
mingling  of  sublimity  and  loveliness  which 
excited  and  surprised  her  at  each  new  turn, 
as  the  road  climbed  and  curved  and  twisted 
its  way  along  the  steep  and  deeply  indented 
shore.  The  churches  and  galleries  had 
wearied  her;  they  had  had  no  balm  for  her 
wounds  nor  counsel  for  her  perplexity ;  but 
here  in  this  abundant  nature,  rugged  in 
form,  flashing  with  color,  there  was  some- 
thing at  once  magnificent  and  maternal, 
stirring  yet  soothing,  exalted  yet  restful, 
something  which  gave  her  courage  and  made 
her  think  that  there  might  still  be  joy 
in  life. 


GRISELDA  301 

And  now,  as  she  sat  alone  on  the  balcony 
watching  the  moonlight  gilding  the  sea  and 
making  whiter  the  white  town  of  Amalfi  far 
below,  she  again  became  conscious  that 
something  was  changed.  They  had  all 
three  dined  together  in  their  own  sitting- 
room,  once  the  library  in  the  days  when  the 
Capuchin  friars  had  fastened  their  convent 
on  the  face  of  that  wild  cliff;  but  almost 
immediately  Lady  Phillida  had  made  an 
excuse  to  retire  to  her  room,  while  Grayburn 
had  gone  down  to  the  terrace  to  smoke. 
Griselda  could  see  him  now  pacing  up  and 
down  under  the  long  vineclad  arbor,  whose 
white  pillars  looked  in  that  light  like  a  row 
of  surpliced  sentinels  at  prayer.  By  and 
by  she  saw  him  pause;  the  point  of  his 
cigar  made  a  little  line  of  fire  as  he  threw 
it  over  the  cliff  towards  the  sea;  then  he 
entered  the  hotel. 

"Are  you  here,  Griselda?"  he  asked,  a 
minute  later,  as  he  opened  the  sitting-room 
door. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  from  the  balcony. 
"Do  come  out  here.  There  never  was  such 
a  spring  night  since  the  world  was  made,  at 
least  not  in  my  large  and  long  experience. 
The  beauty  of  this  place  is  almost  too  great 


302  GRISELDA 

It  hurts  me  to  think  that  one  can't  keep  it 
and  have  it  everywhere;  and  that  all  the 
rest  of  life  isn't  made  to  correspond.  " 

"Perhaps  it  would  be,"  said  Gray  burn, 
sitting  sidewise  on  the  parapet,  his  back  to  a 
pillar,  "if  it  were  not  for  our  own  mistakes. " 

"At  last  I  feel  that  I  am  in  Italy,"  she 
said,  inattentive  to  the  remark  which  to  his 
mind  was  full  of  meaning.  "This  is  the 
Italy  one  dreams  about,  as  a  sort  of  earthly 
heaven.  This  is  the  Italy  of  Mignon's  mem- 
ories, and  Kennst  du  das  Land  ivo  die  Cit- 
ronen  blilhn.  It  isn't  in  Florence;  it  isn't 
even  in  Naples ;  it  is  here.  The  Florence  of 
my  hopes  was  all  white  marble  palaces,  and 
terraces  strewn  with  flowers;  the  Naples  I 
had  dreamed  of  was  a  city  of  clean  and  pic- 
turesque boatmen,  always  singing  Santa 
Lucia,  and  dancing  the  tarantella  at  the  foot 
of  a  mountain  spouting  fire.  It  is  needless 
to  say  that  neither  has  fulfilled  my  expecta- 
tions. To-day  and  to-night  only  have  I  felt 
that  the  Italy  I  have  come  for  is  a  country 
that  exists." 

"Then  at  last  you  are  not  disappointed?" 

"Look,"  she  said,  with  a  wide  gesture 
towards  the  view.  "Disappointment  here, 
would  be  sacrilege. ' ' 


GRISELDA 


303 


With  the  motion  of  her  hand  the  half- 
circlet  of  diamonds,  which  Grayburn  had 
given  her  some  weeks  before,  as  symbol  of 
betrothal,  flashed  in  the  moonlight. 

"How  your  ring  flashes!"  Grayburn  said, 
"even  more  by  night  than  by  day." 

"Does  it?"  she  asked,  trying  to  show 
interest,  and  holding  her  hand  back  upwards 
so  that  the  light  may  play  upon  the  stones. 

"Would  you  like  me  to  take  it  off?"  he 
asked. 

"If  you  like,"  she  answered  readily,  lift- 
ing her  hand  towards  him.  "But  it  is 
rather  hard  to  put  on  again.  It  is  a  little 
small." 

He  slipped  it  off,  and  her  hand  fell. 

"Suppose  I  did  not  put  it  on  again?" 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  don't  like  it,  that 
you  would  rather  give  me  another?" 

"No;  that  I  should  give  you  none." 

"Are  you  serious?" 

"Quite." 

"You  hurt  me  very  much.  You  told  me  a 
few  weeks  ago  that  I  treated  you  unfairly ;  I 
think  it  is  my  turn  to  say  so  now.  Have 
I  again  given  you  cause  for  complaint?  I 
have  certainly  tried  to  be  loyal  and  true. 
I  have  not  forgotten  what  you  said  of  honor, 


304  GRISELDA 

It  stung  me  then  because  I  deserved  it;  but 
I  don't  think  I  have  deserved  it  since.  If 
you  wish  to  release  me  because  you  think  I 
cannot  live  up  to " 

"Suppose  I  wish  to  do  it  because  you  care 
for  some  one  else?" 

"Have  I  said  so  lately?" 

"Not  lately,  but " 

"Then  you  have  no  right  to  attribute  to 
me  what  I  have  tried  to  put  out  of  my 
heart." 

"Even  though  you  have  failed." 

"I  don't  admit  that  I  have  failed,"  she 
said  with  spirit,  her  quick  anger  beginning 
to  assert  itself,  "but  if  I  had  you  are  the 
last  person  living  to  tax  me  with  it  or  blame 
me  for  it. ' ' 

"Be  that  as  it  may,  the  fact  remains " 

"The  fact  remains  that  I  have  kept  my 
word  to  you,  and  am  ready  to  keep  it  still. 
I  know  that  on  our  journey  I  have  not  been 
always  cheerful;  I  have  not  been  always 
well.  The  traveling  has  tired  me,  and  I 
have  not  had  all  the  interest  in  sight-seeing 
that  I  ought;  but  beyond  that  I  have  done 
nothing  to  offend  you,  or  if  so,  it  has  not 
been  consciously.  I  have  tried  in  every- 
thing to  please  you, ' ' 


GRISELDA  305 

"Though  not  with  a  very  light  heart." 

"You  never  asked  me  for  a  light 
heart." 

"Unhappily,  I  did  not." 

"You  didn't  care." 

"Because  I  didn't  know." 

"And  may  I  ask  what  you  have  learned?" 

"I  have  learned  that — love "  The 

word  came  from  him  hardly. 

"That  love,"  she  interrupted,  with  a  little 
scornful  laugh,  "is  always  a  woman's  song. 
So  you  have  told  me;  but  I  at  least  have 
not  sung  it  since." 

"I  have  learned  more  than  that.  I  know 
now  something  of  what  it  is,  and  that  you 
cannot  marry  me  feeling  as  you  do." 

"And  therefore  you  are  ready  to  set  me 
free?" 

"Yes.     It  seems  to  me  I  must." 

"That  is  to  say,  that  first  you  would  marry 
me  against  my  will,  and  now  you  would 
reject  me  because  I  am  not  worthy.  I  do 
not  choose  to  be  treated  so.  Please  give  me 
back  my  ring. ' ' 

She  held  out  her  hand  imperiously,  but  he 
only  took  it  in  his  own,  slipping  the  ring 
into  his  pocket. 

"Do  I  understand,"  he  asked,  "that  you 


306  GRISELDA 

insist  on  keeping  our  engagement  whether 
I  will  or  no?" 

"I  insist  on  paying  my  debt  to  you.  I 
will  not  be  released  through  either  scorn  or 
pity." 

"But  if  I  wanted  to  marry  some  one 
else?" 

"Then  you  would  do,  I  suppose,  exactly 
what  suited  your  own  interests.  Forgive 
me  if  the  words  seem  harsh.  I  state  the 
case  only  as  you  have  taught  me. ' ' 

"You  are  quite  right,"  he  said  calmly. 
"There  is  nothing  harsh  in  that.  I  expected 
some  such  retort,  and  have  been  leading  up 
to  it.  Do  you  remember,"  he  went  on  to 
ask,  leaving  the  parapet  and  taking  a  seat 
at  her  side,  "do  you  remember  that  man  in 
the  Bible  from  whose  eyes  there  fell  as  it 
had  been  scales?  Well,  I  have  been  going 
through  some  such  experience  as  that. ' ' 

"Since  when?"  Griselda  asked,  almost 
breathless,  wondering  if  liberty,  honorable 
liberty,  could  really  be  approaching. 

"Since  this  morning.  At  least  the  effects 
have  been  visible  since  then;  the  causes,  I 
suppose,  must  be  more  remote.  I  feel  very 
much  as  the  healed  blind  man  would  have 
felt  had  he,  on  looking  into  a  mirror  for  the 


GRISELDA 


307 


first  time,  seen  himself  to  be  a  hideous 
monster." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that.  You  know  it  isn't 
true. ' ' 

"It  is  true,  Griselda,"  he  said  tranquilly. 
"You  know  it  better  than  any  one;  but  you 
are  so  accustomed  to  the  fact  that  I  imagine 
you  can  stand  it  better  than  I.  I  don't 
exaggerate  when  I  say  it  is  a  shock  to  me, 
the  worst,  in  some  ways,  I  have  ever  had.  I 
scarcely  know  how  to  tell  you  in  any  way 
that  you  will  understand ;  if  you  were  a  man 
I  dare  say  I  could  do  it  better.  Or  if  you 
had  Lady  Phillida's  wonderful  gift  of  intui- 
tion  ' ' 

"She  has  already  displayed  it  in  this  case, 
perhaps?' 

"Yes,"  he  went  on,  unconscious  of  any 
secondary  meaning  in  Griselda's  words. 
"We  have  talked  a  little,  but  I  will  come  to 
that  by  and  by.  As  I  was  saying,  I  have 
begun  to  see  myself  in  a  new  light ;  I  sup- 
pose it  is  a  true  light,  for  it  is  not  a  flatter- 
ing one. ' ' 

"Is  it  Lady  Phillida  who  has  been  holding 
the  mirror  up  to  nature?" 

'No;  it  is  I  myself.  I  have  made  a  dis- 
covery, several  discoveries,  in  fact. 


3o8  GRISELDA 

"Not  all  unpleasant  ones,  I  hope." 

"No,  but  the  unpleasant  are  the  more 
prominent  for  the  moment,  and  those  of 
which  I  must  talk  to  you  now.  I  have  been 
thinking  very  seriously  all  the  afternoon  as 
we  drove  up  from  Salerno;  and  I  feel  it 
right  to  say  that  I  know  as  well  as  you  do 
that  Botolph  Grayburn  is  a  heartless,  cow- 
ardly, unprincipled,  self-seeking  brute. " 

1 '  I  know  nothing  of  the  kind, ' '  she  cried 
indignantly,  springing  to  her  feet.  "I  must 
ask  you  never  again  to  say  such  things  in 
my  hearing." 

"Sit  down,  my  dear,  and  don't  contradict 
me.  I  know  better  than  you.  You  may  feel 
sure  that  I  shouldn't  say  such  things  about 
myself  if  they  weren't  true." 

"I  cannot  think  what  you  mean,  or  what 
you  are  coming  to,"  she  said,  as  she  sat 
down  again. 

"I  am  coming  to  this,"  he  went  on,  in  a 
half-meditative  way,  "that  after  having 
spent  the  best  part  of  my  life  in  thinking 
that  my  will  was  law  and  all  I  did  was  right, 
I  see  now  that  I  have  been  nothing  but  a 
strong  man  pushing  against  the  weak,  and 
taking  from  every  one  all  he  couldn't  hold." 

"You   exaggerate,"    she   cried.      "One's 


GRISELDA  309 

own  self-judgment  is  often  the  most  ex- 
treme." 

"I  don't  exaggerate,  for  I  have  always 
had  some  little  suspicion  of  the  true  facts  of 
the  case.  I  suppose  it  was  my  conscience ; 
but  when  it  spoke  I  always  patted  myself 
on  the  back  and  said,  'You're  a  mighty  fine 
fellow,  genial,  jolly  and  generous,'  and  so  I 
went  on  thinking  of  nothing  but  my  own 
success  and  not  caring  who  was  trampled 
into  the  dust  as  long  as  I  reached  the  goal. 
That's  how  I've  got  rich.  That's  how 
you've  got  rich.  We  can't  help  it  now;  the 
money  is  there,  and  belongs  to  us.  It 
couldn't  be  given  up  now,  even  if  there  was 
an  owner  who  could  prove  a  better  right  to 
it  than  we.  I  only  state  the  fact,  that  it  has 
come  to  me,  as  everything  else  has  come, 
because  I  never  gave  a  thought  to  what  it 
cost  to  others  so  long  as  the  success  was 
mine.  I  have  swaggered  and  bragged  and 
fought  my  way  along,  making  other  people 
follow  in  my  wake  because  I  took  from 
them  the  means  to  resist  me.  And  that's 
how  I  would  have  married  you,  Griselda. 

"You  have  always  been  very  kind  to  me," 
she  said,  trying  to  speak  gently,  but  feeling 
the  truth  of  his  words. 


3io  GRISELDA 

"When  there  was  no  reason  to  be  other- 
wise. It  was  scarcely  kindness  to  insist  on 
marrying  you  from  motives  of  ambition,  and 
against  what  I  knew  to  be  your  will. ' ' 

"And  why  have  you  changed  your  mind 
so  suddenly?" 

"Because  I  have  fallen  in  love." 

"I  fancied  that  was  it." 

"You  suspected " 

"We  could  scarcely  travel  together  as  we 
have  done  for  the  past  month,  to  say  nothing 
of  our  life  since  August  last,  without  my 
seeing ' ' 

"Yes?"  he  asked  eagerly,  as  she  hesitated 
for  a  word. 

' '  Much  that  perplexed  me. ' ' 

"Then  why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 

"Tell  you  what?" 

"Tell  me  that  I  was  in  love." 

"People  generally  find  that  out  for  them- 
selves." 

"I  never  should  have  found  out  anything 
of  the  kind,"  he  said  with  conviction,  "not 
any  more  than  I  should  have  discovered  that 
the  back  of  my  head  was  turning  gray. ' ' 

"Then  if  I  am  not  too  curious  may  I  ask 
who  told  you?" 

"Lady  Phillida  of  course." 


GRISELDA  311 

"Told  you  that  you  were  in  love?" 

"Not  in  so  many  words.  She  made  me 
see  it;  or  rather  I  made  her  see " 

"That,  in  short,  you  were  in  love." 

4 '  Unconsciously. ' ' 

"And  that  therefore " 

"No,  it  was  I  who  drew  the  conclu- 
sions. There  was  no  therefore  in  what  she 
said." 

"And  your  first  conclusion  was  that  you 
must  set  me  free." 

"No,  that  was  the  second  only.  The  first 
was  that  I  myself  was  a  selfish  beast,  who 
had  taken  mean  advantages  of  all  mankind, 
and  especially  of  you." 

"And  your  third." 

"That  I  should  be  punished." 

"How?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  wish  I  did.  Can't  you 
suggest  something?  The  worst  of  the  pres- 
ent position  is  that  in  giving  you  your  liberty 
I  seem  to  do  so  in  order  to  secure " 

"Something  better  still." 

"Precisely,"  he  cried,  spreading  out  his 
hands  with  a  gesture  of  perplexity. 

Griselda  laughed. 

"So  that  the  penance  doesn't  seem  suffi- 
ciently severe?" 


3i2  GRISELDA 

"It  is  no  penance  whatever;  on  the  con- 
trary it  is But  I  feel  that  I  ought  first 

to  pass  through  purgatory  rather  than  go 
straight  to  heaven." 

"In  love,  they  say,  heaven  is  often  the 
first  stage,  purgatory  but  the  second." 

"That  will  never  be  so  here." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"I  am  the  man  born  blind  who  knows 
only  that  he  sees." 

"That  one  should  be  blind  on  such  a  mat- 
ter seems  to  me  incredible." 

"And  to  me  also  now.  But  the  fact  is, 
Griselda,  I  am  a  man  of  only  one  idea  at  a 
time.  If  I  am  running  towards  a  goal 
to-day  I  don't  drop  out  of  the  race  to  con- 
sider where  I  am  going  to  dine  to-morrow. 
When  I  have  a  purpose  in  mind  I  think  of 
that  thing  only;  when  it  is  done,  and  not 
till  then  do  I  take  up  something  else.  When 
I  was  in  America  I  was  bent  on  growing  rich. 
When  I  returned  to  England  I  was  given  up 
to  winning  your  rights  for  you.  Since  com- 
ing here  to  Italy  I  have  had  all  I  could  do 
in  keeping  up  with  the  courier  and  seeing 
what  isn't  to  be  seen  elsewhere.  I  thought 
no  more  of  being  in  love  than  of  having  the 
lumbago.  If  it  had  not  been  for  Lady  Phil- 


GRISELDA 


313 


lida  I  never  should  have  known  it.  I  should 
have  gone  straight  on,  and  you  and  I  should 
have  been  married  in  Rome." 

"And  if  you  had  found  out  your  mistake 
afterwards?  What  then?" 

"I  shouldn't  have  found  it  out.  She 
would  never  have  told  me. ' ' 

"I  think  you  are  hardly  as  dependent  on 
Lady  Phillida  as  that." 

"I  am  dependent  on  her  for  everything. 
It  is  simply  unimaginable.  I  who  have 
always  been  sufficient  to  myself  am  as  help- 
less without  her  as  a  man  without  his  hand. 
It  would  be  an  absurdity  if  it  were  not  such 

"Joy." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "such  a  joy;  but  one  I  do 
not  deserve." 

Griselda  rose  and  throwing  her  arm  about 
his  neck,  stooped  and  kissed  him.  It  was 
the  first  time  she  had  done  so  since  the  day 
of  his  arrival  at  Lomond  Lodge. 

"You  make  me  very,  very  happy,"  she 
said;  "and  I  know  that  you  will  both  be 
happy  too.  Our  marriage  could  never  have 
been  other  than  one  made  on  earth;  this 
will  be  of  the  sort  that  is  made  in  heaven." 

"And  you  forgive  me?" 


314  GRISELDA 

"Yes,  but  only  on  conditions.  I  am  going 
to  inflict  your  penance." 

" Which  is?" 

"That  you  take  me  back  and  let  me  be 
with  you  as  I  was  when  a  little  girl.  Let 
me  live  with  you  and  Lady  Phillida.  I  have 
nobody  in  the  world  but  you.  I  want  a 
home.  I  want  to  feel  that  I  belong  to  some 
one  and  that  some  one  belongs  to  me. " 

He  drew  down  the  hand  that  rested  on  his 
shoulder  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"I  think  we  can  arrange  that,"  he  said, 
"for  we  all  three  belong  together.  There 
are  some  ties  stronger  than  those  of  blood. 
You're  a  good  girl,  Griselda,  and  I  am  very 
fond  of  you.  But  I  don't  believe  you  will 
want  to  stay  with  us  long.  Lomond  Lodge 
and  House  of  Tulloch  will  soon  have  not 
only  a  mistress  but  a  mast " 

"Hush,"  Griselda  whispered.  "Some one 
is  opening  the  door." 

"It  is  Lady  Phillida,"  Gray  burn  said, 
rising  and  looking  back  into  the  unlit 
room. 

As  the  slender,  white-robed  figure  ad- 
vanced through  the  dusk  of  the  apartment 
Griselda  went  to  meet  her. 

"I   know,"    the     girl     said,    taking    her 


GRISELDA  315 

friend's  two  hands  in  hers.  "I  am  so  glad 
for  his  sake." 

"And  I,"  said  Lady  Phillida,  "for  yours 
and  mine." 

"Come  and  sit  here,"  cried  Grayburn. 
"Come  and  enjoy  with  us  this  perfect 
night. ' ' 

Silently  then  they  sat  down  together, 
listening  to  the  breaking  of  the  waves,  and 
watching  the  wonder,  ever  new,  of  the  moon- 
light shining  on  the  sea  and  lighting  up  the 
white  walls  of  the  town. 


XVIII 

It  was  only  little  by  little  that  Griselda 
began  to  rejoice  in  the  fact  that  she  was 
free.  At  first  she  felt  as  if  she  had  not 
strength  enough  to  care.  In  renouncing 
one  man  and  accepting  another  she  had 
forced  her  nature  to  such  a  degree  that  now 
it  was  as  if  she  had  no  more  power  to  feel. 
Months  of  emotion  had  drained  her  strength ; 
weeks  of  silent  conflict  with  self  had  left  her 
subdued  but  apathetic.  She  did  not  pre- 
tend to  be  otherwise  than  glad  to  have  her 
liberty ;  only  she  was  not  ecstatic ;  now  that 
she  possessed  her  freedom  she  seemed  to 
prize  it  less  than  she  had  supposed. 

It  was  not  until  they  came  to  Rome  that 
something  of  her  old  buoyancy  returned. 
Mental  peace  brought  physical  repose;  rest 
induced  strength ;  strength  induced  serenity. 
For  the  first  time  since  they  had  left  England 
she  was  allowed  to  do  as  she  pleased.  In 
Rome  there  was  so  much  to  see  that  Gray- 
burn  thought  it  impossible  to  see  anything. 
For  the  moment  he  had  other  occupations ; 
316 


GRISELDA  317 

he  said  that  for  sight-seeing  he  would 
return.  Lady  Phillida  had  numerous  en- 
gagements in  the  Roman  social  world, 
where  she  had  long  held  a  position  of  dis- 
tinction. Griselda  was  therefore  left  much 
to  herself,  and  was  glad  of  her  solitude. 
She  spent  hours  in  St.  Peter's,  and  the 
greater  churches ;  she  wandered  through  the 
galleries  of  the  Vatican  and  the  historic 
palaces;  she  loved  the  Forum  and  the  Col- 
osseum, and  found  a  weird  attraction  in  the 
ruins  of  the  Baths  of  Caracalla  and  the 
Appian  Way.  When  tired  of  being  quite 
alone  she  took  her  maid  to  keep  her  in  com- 
pany and  countenance,  and  drove  in  the 
Villa  Borghese  or  out  to  the  Janiculum 
Hill;  now  and  then  she  ventured  on  the 
Pincian,  but  rarely  unless  accompanied  by 
Lady  Phillida. 

And  so  as  the  bright  spring  days  sped 
by  she  passed  into  something  approaching 
peace.  In  the  long  hours  of  loneliness  she 
began  to  feel  her  spirit  springing  within  her, 
like  grass  refreshed  by  rain.  She  read,  re- 
flected, and  prayed.  She  felt  old  and  wise, 
as  if  the  story  of  her  life  was  closed;  and 
yet  she  began  again  to  be  glad  of  being 
free.  There  was  still  one  great  want  in 


3i8  GRISELDA 

her  life ;  that,  she  told  herself,  never  could 
be  satisfied;  but,  because  she  was  young, 
she  unconsciously  fed  herself  with  hope. 

As  the  time  drew  near  for  going  back  to 
England  she  found  herself  dreading  to 
return.  In  a  foreign  country  she  could 
remain  obscure ;  in  England  she  was  already 
a  person  of  some  prominence.  The  fash- 
ionable journals  recorded  her  movements 
and  kept  referring  to  what  they  called  her 
romantic  history.  The  title,  which  she  tried 
to  bear  with  outward  dignity,  seemed  to  her 
inner  consciousness,  cumbrous  if  not  ridicu- 
lous. It  rendered  her  conspicuous,  and  made 
her  feel  that  she  was  passing  under  a  name 
that  was  not  hers.  In  her  own  thought  she 
was  still  Griselda  Grant,  the  girl  who  had 
lived  in  loneliness  and  obscurity.  To  be 
Countess  of  Lomond,  and  yet  not  Nigel's 
wife,  seemed  not  only  anomalous  but  almost 
odious.  In  her  mind  the  name  of  Lomond 
was  bound  up  with  the  man  who,  during  her 
acquaintance  with  him,  had  always  borne  it. 
For  her  to  assume  it  seemed  unmaidenly; 
to  discard  it  now,  impossible. 

Thus,  the  seclusion  in  which  she  lived  in 
Rome  was  all  the  pleasanter  from  the 
knowledge  that  it  soon  must  cease.  The 


GRISELDA  319 

end  came  even  earlier  than  she  expected. 
One  morning  intimation  was  received  that 
the  Queen  would  privately  receive  the  Count- 
ess of  Lomond,  whose  grandfather  had  long 
been  a  member  of  the  Court.  Griselda  was 
pleased  but  frightened.  After  a  conference 
with  Grayburn  and  Lady  Phillida  it  was 
decided  that  they  should  return  at  once  to 
England,  in  order  that  the  presentation 
might  be  made  before  Her  Majesty  should 
leave  Windsor. 

Griselda  therefore  prepared  to  say  good- 
bye to  Rome.  She  revisited  all  her  favorite 
haunts,  and  drank  at  the  fountain  of  Trevi 
in  order  to  be  sure  of  coming  back  again. 
Her  last  farewell  she  meant  to  take  from 
the  terrace  of  the  Pincian  Gardens. 

She  prepared  for  this  act  with  much  sen- 
timent and  some  solemnity;  and  on  the 
afternoon  preceding  their  departure  she 
went  forth  on  foot  and  alone.  Leaving  the 
hotel  in  the  Piazza  di  Spagna  she  went  up  the 
Spanish  Steps,  as  far  as  the  broad  terrace  be- 
low the  Piazza  della  Santa  Trinitade*  Monti. 
Here  she  paused  for  breath  and  turned  in- 
stinctively to  look  at  the  scene  below. 

It  was  the  hour  when  the  Romans  begin 
to  come  out  for  the  afternoon.  A  deep  roar 


320 


GRISELDA 


of  traffic,  so  steady  as  to  pass  unheeded, 
came  up  the  Via  de*  Condotti  from  the 
Corso.  Across  the  uneven  pavement  of  the 
Piazza,  di  Spagna  an  increasing  procession 
of  carriages  rolled,  passing  on  through  the 
Via  Babuino  and  the  Piazza,  del  Popolo 
towards  the  Pincian  Hill. 

As  Griselda  gazed  downwards  the  great 
stairway  itself  was  bright  with  color  and 
sunshine.  Broken  flowers,  accidentally 
dropped  here  and  there,  gave  touches  of 
warm  tint  to  the  worn,  gray  stone.  On  and 
against  the  parapets  picturesque  peasants 
were  lounging  and  laughing.  Now  and 
then  a  beggar  woman,  brown  and  prema- 
turely old,  put  on  her  professional  whine 
and  stretched  out  her  wrinkled  hand,  as 
some  chance  foreigner  came  within  her 
sphere  of  action.  A  little  lower  than  Gris- 
elda a  black-eyed,  black-bearded,  fiercely 
handsome  contadino,  wearing  a  green  cor- 
duroy coat,  a  crimson  waistcoat,  and  sheep- 
skin trousers,  stood,  looking  gravely  down 
on  the  centre  of  modern  Rome;  just  as,  ages 
ago,  some  wanderer  from  Gaul  or  Britain 
might  have  surveyed  from  the  Temple  of 
Castor  and  Pollux  the  traffic  and  splendor 
of  the  Forum. 


GRISELDA 


321 


Around  the  boat-shaped  fountain  of  Ber- 
nini were  banks  of  flowers;  and  on  the 
heads  of  apparently  acrobatic  vendors  bas- 
kets of  blossom  swirled  and  turned,  with  an 
effect  at  once  lovely  and  fantastic.  Here 
were  crimson  stocks  and  gold-colored  daffo- 
dils; here,  purple  irises  and  yellow  roses; 
while  elsewhere  heads  were  crowned  with 
revolving  domes  of  violets,  or  masses  of 
pink  carnations. 

Not  less  striking  to  the  eye  was  a  black 
and  white  procession  of  Dominicans,  who 
passed  swiftly  and  silently  down  the  Steps, 
and  turned  towards  the  Via  de'  due  Ma- 
celli ;  and  a  long  line  of  scarlet  robed  Ger- 
man ecclesiastics,  descending  the  Via  de' 
Condotti,  looked  to  Griselda  like  a  distant 
flock  of  migrating  tropical  birds. 

"Won't  you  speak  to  me?" 

"Oh,  Lord  Lomond,  how  you  frightened 
me!" 

She  turned  with  a  start  as  he  raised  his 
hat ;  but  the  words  had  not  passed  her  lips 
before  she  was  conscious  of  her  mistake. 

"You  will  shake  hands  with  me?"  he 
asked,  taking  no  notice  of  her  error  in  title. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  crimson  with  con- 
fusion but  holding  out  her  hand.  "I  have 


322  GRISELDA 

just  been  thinking  of  you,"  she  went  on  in 
her  hurry  to  recover  herself  and  say  some- 
thing. "No,  no ;  I  mean  of  some  one  else. " 
'I  am  sorry  the  honor  wasn't  mine," 
Glenorchie  said  with  an  easy  laugh.  "Per- 
haps I  have  better  luck  on  other  occasions?" 

The  absence  of  any  appearance  of  em- 
barrassment on  his  part  helped  Griselda  to 
regain  her  self-control. 

"How  did  you  come  here?"  she  asked, 
making  a  strong  effort  to  treat  the  meeting 
as  an  ordinary  one.  "I  didn't  see  you." 

"I  came  down  the  Steps  behind  you.  I 
recognized  you  from  up  there  in  the  Piazza. 
di  Santa  Trinita.  I  hope  you  don't  mind 
my  intruding  on  you?" 

"On  the  contrary,"  she  said,  trying  not 
to  blush  again.  "I  think  it  very  kind.  If 
you  hadn't  done  so  I  should  not  have  seen 
you ;  for  we  leave  Rome  to-morrow. ' ' 

"So  soon?     1  knew  you  were  here. " 

"Really?  We  have  been  living  so  quietly 
that  I  thought  we  had  escaped  notice." 

"I  saw  you  yesterday,  passing  the  Palazzo 

Barberini  with  your  husb with  Mr. 

Grayburn. ' ' 

"Mr.  Grayburn  is  not  my  husband,"  she 
said,  flushing  in  spite  of  herself. 


GRISELDA  323 

"Oh!"  he  breathed  with  evident  surprise. 
"I  understood " 

"Mr.  Gray  burn  and  Lady  Phillida  Wim- 
pole  are  to  be  married  as  soon  as  we  return 
to  London." 

She  tried  to  speak  as  though  the  fact  had 
no  consequence  to  either  Glenorchie  or  her- 
self; but  her  voice  trembled,  and  she  was 
evidently  unnerved. 

"Then  I  have  been  misinformed.  I  must 
beg  your  pardon  for  having  made  such  a 
blunder. ' ' 

"It  is  not  your  fault,  it  is  mine.  I  am 
glad  you  have  spoken  of  it  because  it  gives 
me  the  opportunity  to  say  something  I  have 
long  wished  to  tell  you.  I  seize  this  chance 
because  I  may  never  have  another.  You 
remember  our  last  meeting?" 

"I  am  not  likely  to  forget  it." 

"And  our  last  parting?" 

He  bowed. 

"I  have  deeply  regretted  what  I  said  to 
you  then,"  she  went  on,  doing  her  best  to 
be  calm.  ' '  I  was  overwrought  and  unstrung. 
I  had  no  motives  for  revenge.  If  I  thought  so 
at  the  time  I  have  seen  my  error  since.  For 
whatever  else  I  can  justify  myself,  for  that  at 
least  I  must  ask  your  pardon  very  humbly. ' ' 


324  GRISELDA 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his,  but  immediately 
looked  away  again,  gazing  down  on  the 
revolving  bits  of  color  in  the  Piazza,  below. 

"If  I  say  that  I  forgive  you,"  he  said 
gravely,  "it  is  because  I  feel  that  I  have 
something  to  forgive.  At  that  moment  you 
were  not  just  to  me.  I  will  not  go  back  to 
what  took  place  that  night  at  Lomond 
Lodge ;  I  will  only  say  that  if  I  hesitated 
then  it  was  not  for  any  of  the  motives  you 
ascribed  to  me. ' ' 

' '  I  know, ' '  she  said  gently.  ' '  I  know  that 
you  have  never  been  anything  but  a  loyal 
and  high-minded  gentleman.  I  can  never 
cease  to  repent  of  the  pain  I  have  given 
you.  I  have  come  into  your  life  only  to 
make  it  wretched.  I  have  taken  from  you 
what  you  could  have  kept  but  for  me,  and 
what  you  have  far  more ' ' 

"No,  not  that,"  he  interposed  hastily. 
"There  you  were  right.  If  we  had  married 
each  other  and  I  had  learned  afterwards  who 
you  were  it  would  have  pained  me  exceed- 
ingly. It  would  have  been  too  late  to  rectify 
matters  then,  and  I  should  have  felt  for  the 
rest  of  my  life  that  I  was  living  under  false 
pretences." 

"I  never  meant  that  you  should  know — 


GRISELDA  325 

certainly  not  until  my  love  had  assured  you 
that  all  that  was  mine  was  yours.  I  meant 
even  more  than  that.  I  wanted  you  to  feel 
that  I  had  no  conception  of  place  for  myself 
other  than  that  which  you  would  give  me. 
My  greatest  happiness  lay  in  the  thought 
that  I  was  an  unknown  girl  whom  your  love 
was  lifting  to  your  level.  The  only  honors 
I  wanted  were  those  I  should  have  received 
from  you.  It  seems  strange  to  you,  per- 
haps, that  I  should  speak  like  this.  It  is 
only  because  we  are  so  widely  separated  that 
all  explanations  have  become  possible." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  understand.  We  are 
so  far  apart  now  that  we  can  speak  freely." 

"And  it  is  best  that  we  should  do  so,  for 
at  least  this  once,  before  it  is  too  late." 

"It  certainly  will  help  us  to  think  more 
justly  of  each  other.  After  you  are  mar- 
ried  " 

"Or  you,"  she  said. 

"Or  I,"  he  assented,  "it  will  be  impossi- 
ble to  speak  with  open  heart,  therefore  we 
ought  to  hide  nothing  from  each  other  now. 
Are  you  going  on?  If  so,  perhaps  we  might 
walk  a  little  way  together?" 

"I  was  going  to  the  Pincian,"  she  said 
turning  towards  the  second  flight  of  steps. 


326  GRISELDA 

"If  you  will  come  with  me  I  shall  be  very 
glad." 

"Are  you  staying  near  here?" 

"Mr.  Grayburn  is  at  the  Grand  Hotel,  but 
Lady  Phillida  and  I  are  just  below  at  the 
Hotel  de  1'Europe. " 

"Paul  de  Marignan  and  I  are  your  near 
neighbors  then.  We  are  just  beyond  the 
Spanish  Steps,  at  the  Hotel  de  Londres. " 

"Look,"  said  Griselda,  as  they  went 
slowly  upwards.  "How  the  obelisk  of  Pius 
VI  stands  out  against  that  stainless  blue! 
I  love  to  see  it  so,  flanked  by  the  two  pale 
towers  of  Santa  Trinita,  as  it  is  from  just 
this  point  of  view.  And  then  it  is  so  old ! 
It  seems  to  stand  for  the  world's  hoary  past ; 
while  the  church  behind  it  speaks  of  eter- 
nity's happy  future." 

"And  the  gardens  of  the  Villa  Medici 
close  by?  What  do  they  represent?" 

"Don't  they  suggest  romance  to  you? 
They  always  do  so  to  me. ' ' 

"Nothing  suggests  romance  to  me  now. 
All  I  see  is  commonplace,  and  all  I  read  is 
prose. ' ' 

"That  is  my  fault." 

"Rather  my  misfortune." 

"Why  don't  you  say  our  misfortune?" 


GRISELDA  327 

"I  will  say  it  if  you  like.  I  think  you 
share  the  regret.  It  is  a  curious  fate  that 
you  and  I  who  loved  each  other  should  have 
been  cut  asunder  just  like  this. ' ' 

"I  want  to  make  a  further  explanation," 
she  said,  as  they  reached  the  Piazza,  di 
Santa  Trinita  de'  Monti.  "I  have  told  you 
that  I  had  no  real  motive  of  revenge  in 
doing  what  I  did,  and  yet  I  had  a  reason 
which  must  always  have  been  imperative.  I 
had  to  prove  my  mother's  honor.  As  long 
as  it  was  not  questioned  I  could  have  left  the 
subject  to  silence.  When  it  had  once  come 
under  discussion  I  had  no  choice  but  to  go 
on  to  the  bitter  end.  You  can  understand 
that,  I  know.  I  want  you  to  do  me  the  jus- 
tice to  think  that  nothing  I  could  gain  for 
myself  would  have  been  reason  enough  for 
the  extreme  measures  I  was  obliged  to  take. 
A  mother's  name  is  like  nothing  else.  I  had 
to  clear  it ;  and  I  could  not  do  so  without 
renouncing  you.  There  are  claims  to  which 
even  love  itself  must  give  way.  You  see 
that,  don't  you?  I  want  you  to  think  of  me 
in  the  future  not  as  of  one  who  was  moved 
by  pride  or  ambition  or  selfish  desire  of 
gain.  I  admit  that  for  a  little  while  I  was 
stirred  by  anger,  but  of  that  I  have,  re- 


328  GRISELDA 

pented.  Behind  that  there  was  a  sacred 
duty ;  for  doing  which  I  cannot  repent,  even 
though  it  means  that  you  and  I  must  always 
stay  apart. ' ' 

"It  is  sufficient  to  think  of  what  I  would 
sacrifice  for  my  mother  to  understand  what 
you  would  give  up  for  yours. ' ' 

"Then  you  have  no  hard  feeling  against 
me?" 

"None." 

"Are  you  saying  that  only  to  please  me?" 

"I  am  saying  it  on  my  soul." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  with  the  strong 
and  simple  sincerity  which  instantly  carried 
Glenorchie's  mind  back  to  the  night  of  their 
pledge  of  trust  at  Lomond  Lodge. 

They  walked  on  for  a  little  while  in 
silence.  Under  the  trees  near  the  Villa 
Medici  they  stopped  to  look  at  the  vista  of 
St.  Peter's,  framed  in  an  arch  of  ilex-green, 
and  then  they  moved  on  again. 

By  this  time  the  crowd  was  steadily 
increasing.  It  seemed  as  if  a  large  part  of 
the  Roman  population  were  being  drawn  by 
some  strange  magnet  up  the  gentle  slope. 
The  irregular  procession  had  a  curious  holi- 
day air,  though  it  was  not  a  holy  day. 
There  were  representatives  of  all  ranks  and 


GRISELDA  329 

ages,  and  a  strange  variety  of  costume.  A 
group  of  uniformed  soldiers  jostled  a  line  of 
black-cassocked  priests.  Mendicant  moth- 
ers carrying  elfish-eyed  babes  walked  side 
by  side  with  picturesque  officers  in  blue- 
gray  cloaks  worn  with  a  grace  suggestive  of 
a  toga-clad  ancestry.  A  party  of  bronzed 
and  bearded  Capuchin  monks,  in  rough 
brown  habits  and  sandals,  gossiped  and 
joked,  while  three  or  four  exquisite  young 
Roman  nobles  bore  themselves  with  a  grav- 
ity more  than  monastic. 

Among  the  pedestrians  horses  plunged, 
seemingly  without  regard  to  human  life  or 
limb.  Now  it  was  a  landau  filled  with  ladies 
that  went  £y,  now  a  public  cab  containing 
some  solitary  stranger.  Elderly  Roman 
princes  and  princesses  passed  on  to  the  daily 
semi-state  parade,  followed  by  a  party  of 
jovial  ecclesiastics.  There  was  no  haste, 
but  no  order;  no  visible  precaution  against 
accident,  but  no  apparent  danger. 

Glenorchie  piloted  Griselda  through  the 
crowd,  but  there  was  no  possibility  of  con- 
versation until  they  were  on  the  broad  ter- 
race above  the  winding  road  which  leads  up 
from  the  Piazza,  del  Popolo.  Here  there 
was  comparative  freedom,  and  the  greater 


330  GRISELDA 

part  of  Rome  was  stretched  out  like  a  map 
before  them.  They  sat  down  with  their 
backs  to  the  crowd  and  the  band-stand,  and 
began  to  talk  of  the  view. 

Then  a  long  silence  fell. 

"I  suppose  this  is  the  last  time  that  we 
shall  sit  together  like  this." 

"I  suppose  so,"  she  assented. 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  know." 

She  spoke  so  softly  that  he  hardly  heard 
her. 

"We  say  that  we  are  kept  apart;  what  is 
it  keeps  us  so?" 

"Isn't  it  your  sense  of  honor?"  she  asked. 

"You  mean  my  fear  of  public  opinion. 
They  would  say  in  London  that  I  had  tried 
to  regain  by  marriage  what  I  had  lost  by 
law.  Would  it  hurt  you  if  they  did?" 

"Would  it  hurt  you?"  she  asked. 

"It  would  make  me  indignant." 

' '  It  would  make  me  unhappy. ' ' 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  should  know  it  was  not  true." 

"I  should  resent  it  bitterly  for  your  sake, " 
he  said. 

"And  I  for  yours." 

Then  another  silence  fell. 


GRISELDA  331 

"I  hope  we  may  sometimes  meet  when  we 
are  all  in  England." 

"Yes,  I  hope  so,"  she  said. 

"My  mother,  too,  would  like  to  see  you. 
She  understands  you  now.  I  always  knew, 
even  when  we  were  at  Ascot,  that  she  was 
fighting  against  her  growing  love  for  you. 
I  told  you  so.  Perhaps  if  we  had  married 
she  might  never  have  learnt  to  know  you  as 
she  does.  She  thinks  you  very  noble.  You 
will  find  her  changed — softened  and  very 
humble.  She  is  lonely,  too.  She  is  going 
to  ask  you  to  make  her  a  visit  at  Tunbridge 
Wells.  I  hope  you  will  go. ' ' 

"It  will  be  my  greatest  comfort  in  life  to 
do  so." 

"You  are  very  good,"  he  said. 

And  again  a  silence  fell. 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  say  good-bye," 
Griselda  said  at  last. 

"If  you  wish  it,"  he  said. 

"I  should  like  to  be  a  little  while  alone." 

"Then  I  will  go  away." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  going  close  to 
the  parapet  stood  looking  down  on  Rome. 

When  he  turned  there  was  that  in  his  face 
which  drew  from  Griselda  all  the  love  and 
pity  of  her  overflowing  heart.  In  an  instant 


332  GRISELDA 

she  was  strong  again — strong  because  she 
thought  not  of  herself  but  of  him  alone. 

Springing  to  her  feet  she  caught  him  by 
the  arm. 

"Nigel,  you  shall  not  go,"  she  cried,  in  a 
voice  that  was  low  and  thrilling.  "We  shall 
not  be  torn  asunder  thus." 

He  could  not  reply.  His  teeth  were 
clenched  to  keep  back  the  emotion  which  his 
simple  nature  made  no  more  effort  to  con- 
ceal. He  could  only  look  down  with  frank, 
blue,  brimming  eyes  into  the  eager  face  that 
gazed  up  into  his. 

Then,  by  a  common  impulse,  silently,  and 
with  clasped  hands,  they  turned  together 
towards  Rome — Rome,  which  became  sud- 
denly, in  their  young  imaginations,  the  city  of 
gold  and  green  and  azure,  where  all  beau- 
ties, all  arts,  all  aspirations  centre  forever- 
more.  For  here,  where  the  dead  centuries 
can  be  counted  one  by  one  back  into  the 
very  twilight  of  the  world,  there  is  also  a 
strange  consciousness  of  perpetual  youth 
and  spring;  here,  where  Time's  work  can 
most  visibly  be  traced,  it  is  also  most 
thoroughly  effaced ;  here,  where  so  much  is 
crumbling  into  dignified  decay,  there  is 
also  the  restless,  rapid,  never-ending  evo- 


GRISELDA  333 

lution  of  new  life,  new  love,  new  vigor, 
and  new  joy  out  of  the  dust  of  what  has 
gone. 


THE    END 


PRINTED  BY  R.  R.  DONNELLEY 
AND  SONS  COMPANY  AT  THE 
LAKESIDE  PRESS.  CHICAGO,  ILL. 


iiiiilil 

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